


Catalyst

by fourletterwordsstartingwithl (hiddleston_loki_lover_au)



Series: From The Wyld [1]
Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, M/M, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Romance, Seidr, Slow Burn, Smut, non-graphic animal death, Ásgarðr | Asgard (realm), Útgarðar | Utgard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-05-11 04:05:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5613349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddleston_loki_lover_au/pseuds/fourletterwordsstartingwithl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Seidrmaster and the Stormbringer.</p><p>Loki and Thor were brought up in two very different worlds; one in the halls of Asgard and her golden city and the second from within the largest frozen forest in all the nine realms.  A chance encounter after becoming lost in the great forest becomes the catalyst for change and they suddenly find themselves mere pieces in a chess game, far greater than they ever thought possible.</p><p>Please note this fic is on temporary hiatus - it has not been abandoned - I will return xx</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Mother's Love

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a bit of a project for me... I absolutely love Jotun Loki/Arranged Marriage fics and I've read and reread all my favourites fics so many times that I needed an outlet for all the ideas running through my mind - and thus, _From The Wyld_ was born.
> 
> This project is ongoing and will be long. I envision the series containing 5 parts. I will be taking my time, but I won't leave too long a wait between updates. At this stage, I have the first 4 chapters complete and ready to go.
> 
> Thank you to my lovelies [Sam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MalfoyLover_1/pseuds/MalfoyLover_1), [Magic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CoCoKrispies/) and [Mona](http://%20archiveofourown.org/users/sexyscholar/pseuds/sexualthorientation) for the beta xx

No matter how many times Thor thought about it, he would never come to regret this decision.

He knew how it looked to the others who had been inadvertently dragged into the situation; rebellious, childish, clandestine.  But as he looked down at the sleeping man huddled beside him, all those thoughts melted away, leaving only those of love, bliss and a sense of calm.

Even as the wind whipped the deerskin tent they were currently sheltered within, causing a cacophonous boom of noise and unrest, Thor’s heartbeat was a steady rhythm and his breathing remained even.

Reaching out, he gathered Loki into his arms and closed his eyes, hoping sleep would take him soon.  They needed their rest if they were going to make any decent headway the next day.

He thought about all those back in Ásgarðr, his mother, his father, his friends and how they would hopefully one day understand why they had done what they had and maybe one day forgive them for the way they had done it.

He traced light fingers down the bridge of Loki’s straight nose and out across his lovely high cheekbones.  Loki slept on, but Thor became distracted from sleep once more, his thoughts still running rampant in his mind and his fingers mapping out the beautiful face in front of him.

No.  No matter how many times he thought about it, Thor would never regret running for love.

 

* * *

_Jötunheimr, Year: 850_

“My lord, the child will be a runt,” the healer said quietly upon entering the room and approaching Fárbauti where he sat beside the large window.  The Jötunn king frowned and turned his head to meet the healer’s eyes.

 

“Are you certain?”  When he received a nod in reply, Fárbauti looked down at his sons as they wrestled on the rug at his feet.  Helblindi and Býleistr turned 5 on their last nameday and were already as tall as an average Æsir.  They showed so much promise.  They would be his legacy.

 

His third would apparently be his shame.

 

“Kill it.”

 

Shock registered across the healer’s face for but a moment before it returned to its stoic normalcy.  With a curt nod, he retreated to the door.  “My lord.”

 

 

 

 

 _A runt_!  The babe that currently lay at rest beneath his breast would be a runt.  With a sorrow he had never experienced before, Nál sobbed silently and clutched at his still flat belly.

 

The healer had just left the room; no doubt off to advise Fárbauti of his husband’s current condition.

 

Nál had known his last heat had produced a child.  Felt the instant Fárbauti’s seed had stuck.  Not like with the twins - no, they had only made their presence known after they had rendered him violently ill for months and ripping his skin tight as they had grown exponentially.

 

This child was different, though.  Nál could feel it; in his bones, in his core.  His seiðr was stronger already, crackling just beneath the surface.

 

This child would be _Íviðjur_.  A mage.

 

 _Seiðrmeistr_.

 

And Fárbauti would see it killed.

 

“Never!”  He gasped and launched himself from the bed to run to the doors on the far side of the room.  He threw them open and walked out to the balcony’s edge.  Looking down, Nál could see the Palace guards marching back and forth, never once wavering in their duty.  The ice cold wind swirled over his deep blue skin and whipped his small fur skirt around his thighs.  The heavy gold torque he wore around his neck as a symbol of his status as Queen of Jötunheimr felt heavier still as Nál realised there was no way he could simply walk away.

 

No.  His escape would have to come from his craft.

 

Chewing his bottom lip, he made his way back inside, locking the balcony doors and looking around the room.

 

Holding out his hand to his dresser, Nál called for his hairbrush.  A simple spell, surely.

 

When the brush flew across the room, smashing into the far wall and dropping to the plush carpet below, he hiccupped a sob.  His seiðr was too unpredictable right now; the babe in his womb removing any control Nál thought to wield.

 

As he fetched the gilded brush from the far side of the room, Nál heard a faint knock at the door.  Sucking in a panicked breath, he clutched the brush to his breast and called out for whoever was there to enter.

 

It was the healer.

 

“What do you want?”  He growled.  “Have you not done enough damage for one day?”

 

“I was brought to you at his Majesty’s insistence, your Grace.”  His voice was quiet; soft for a full-sized Jötunn.  It was disconcerting to Nál.  “He asked me to check you for gravidity.”

 

“And what were his orders upon finding out what you have reported?”  Nál asked haughtily, slowly side-stepping his way closer to the bed, knowing his lovely dagger lay hidden beneath the pillows.

 

The healer actually managed to look guilty as a flash of something akin to pain flared in Nál’s chest.  “My Queen,” he all but whispered, dropping to one knee.  “He has ordered your pregnancy terminated.”

 

Nál sobbed and reached beneath the pillow to grasp the hilt of the dagger.  “You’ll not touch me, _healer,_ ” he seethed, pointing the knife at the kneeling giant.

 

“Nay, I cannot.”

 

The healer’s response was not what Nál was expecting and his shock must have registered on his face, for the healer continued.  “I cannot kill that child in your womb.  I have felt its seiðr.  It will be strong.  A runt yes, but stronger than his kin.  Stronger than you or I.”

 

Nál sobbed out a relieved breath and lowered the dagger.  “What am I going to do?”  He asked, his mind already running various scenarios through his head.

 

The healer stood and looked down at Nál.  “The very nature of this pregnancy is going to work in your favour, your Grace.  You won’t begin to show until the very end, if at all.  His Majesty is going to believe I have done what was asked of me, all the while, we’re going to plan your escape.”

 

Nál nodded slowly, turning to look out at the late afternoon sun, dipping low on the far horizon.  It was never enough to warm the realm; the landscape was barren and stark.  And frozen.

 

“Where will I go?”  He whispered, more to himself than to the other Jötunn in the room.  Útgarðr was out of the question.  His ancestral home would not be able to shield him or his child.  Fárbauti would find them immediately.

 

“My Queen, I’m afraid the Wyld is your only hope.”

 

“The Wyld?”

 

“Aye.  The Wyld Forest that borders the greater mountains south of here. It would shield both you and the child for as long as you needed.”

 

“But the völva.  Is that not where she haunts?”

 

“Nay, my Queen.  She inhabits the Járnviðr, which lies northwest of the Wyld.  However, she would be your protection.   Stay well clear of the Iron Wood and your safety is guaranteed.  None but a few know of Angrboða’s exact location; most fear the forest as a whole and would no sooner enter The Wyld than cut off their own arm.”

 

“And what of you, healer?  What payment do you wish to receive for helping me?  What is your angle?”

 

“None, your Grace.  I-I simply cannot abide his orders any longer.”

 

“Fárbauti’s orders?”

 

The healer nodded.  “He killed my mate.”  He paused, as if speaking it aloud was physically painful to him.  “When I had refused an order to kill an innocent prisoner, he had nodded to his soldiers, who dragged my beloved into the room and had him killed right in front of me.  Oh his eyes, my Queen, they were so scared.  His gaze never left me, even when they had forced him to his knees and plunged the ice-blade through his throat.”

 

Nál gasped.  “So it’s revenge you seek?”

 

“We were mated for more than 600 hundred years and Fárbauti ordered his death without blinking an eye.  I have lived with the guilt of what my decision wrought for more than three seasons now, but I cannot any longer.  H-he took my soulmate away.  I cannot continue to kill for him.  If this child you carry is indeed _Íviðjur_ , then may he grow from strength to strength.  Maybe one day, he will herald a new reign.”

 

Nál narrowed his eyes.  “Overthrow Fárbauti?”  He whispered.

 

The healer shrugged.

 

“My two other sons would never see it come to pass.  Even now, they have been torn from my arms, ever in Fárbauti’s presence.  Indeed, I have not seen them these last five days.”

 

“They are well, my Queen.  Hale and hearty.”

 

Nál blinked away sudden tears to look up at the healer.  “You have seen them?”

 

He nodded and indicated the door.  “His majesty doesn’t let them stray far.”

 

With a realisation so slow Nál could almost pinpoint the exact moment his heart began to harden, he took a deep breath and straightened his back.  “For the protection of one in danger, I must leave the two who are safe.  Though they are my sons also, they will hopefully one day understand that a mother’s love is a love unbroken by time or space.

 

“I will surely see them again one day,” he eventually sighed.

 

The healer dropped to his knee once more and lowered his head.  “My Queen, I will leave shortly to report to Fárbauti that his order has been fulfilled.  You will need to return to your bed.  I will come see you in five days.  Be ready.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nál did as the healer had asked and had remained in bed for the rest of that first evening.  Indeed, he didn’t leave his suite of rooms for the next three days.  He only left the rooms on the third day when a page arrived to advise Fárbauti had requested a meeting.  Nál nodded and followed the young page down the corridor, through to a small informal hall where he found Fárbauti sitting on his throne in the centre of the room.

 

“My Queen,” he said without affection.  Nál wept silently at that for he remembered a time when their love bled through their skin, ignited their passion and fuelled their mating.  Centuries passed together, but their love had never wavered.

 

And then they had conceived the twins.

 

Suddenly Fárbauti refused to touch him and Nál had not known what had happened.  When he had approached Fárbauti about it, he had shaken his head.  Said Nál needed to look after their unborn sons instead.  The realisation that he was viewed by his King as nothing but a broodmare had shattered Nál’s heart.

 

“My King,” Nál replied, just as tonelessly.  Something flashed behind Fárbauti’s gaze for a second before he sneered.

 

“How are you feeling?  Better, I hope.”

 

If everything wasn’t reliant on Nál playing his part well, he would have ascended the steps to where his smug husband sat and throttled his pretty blue neck.  How dare he speak of the death of their child with such blasé inflection, no matter how false that death may be?

 

Nál grit his teeth and bit out a murmured ‘ _better, thank you’_.

 

If Fárbauti noticed Nál’s simmering temper, he paid it no heed, instead holding up and waving a letter between his fingers before tossing it to his feet.  “A letter from Frigga, Queen of Ásgarðr,” he said.  “It was wrapped up with Óðinn’s new trade agreements this morning.”  He almost immediately returned to reading his own scrolls.

 

Nál looked down and saw his own title reflecting back at him in elegant script, written with a lovely gold ink that shimmered in the pale light as he picked it up.  “Thank you, husband.  I still feel poorly.  May I return to my rooms now?”

 

Fárbauti looked up and waved a bored hand in the direction of the door.  “Yes, yes.”

 

“Might I ask where the twins are?”  Nál asked softly.  He may not get a chance to see them before he left and even though his heart was slowly steeling itself for the eventual break, he would have liked to have seen them at least once more.  Give them a proper goodbye.

 

Fárbauti looked up with a calculating look across his face.  “They are with their nurse, Nál.  Why do you ask?”

 

“I can’t ask after my own children?”

 

A pause.  “Of course you can,” Fárbauti replied.  “But you should really be resting, no?”

 

Nál nodded and left the room.  Tears blurred his vision at how truly worthless he felt as he returned to his own rooms and closed the doors.

 

The servants had clearly been through the room while he had been with Fárbauti.  The bed had been stripped and fresh sheets fitted and his clothes had been removed for laundering.  A platter of fried seal meat and kelp had also been brought in and placed on the bench along the side wall.  Nál wrinkled his nose at the acrid smell and strode over to the platter, placing the metal cloche back over the offending meat.

 

Not fast enough it seemed, for he immediately felt his stomach turn.  He rushed to open the side doors, letting the frigid wind sweep through the room.  All the while he rubbed his flat belly.  “Hush little one.  All is well.”

 

He felt a jolt of electric buzz through his abdomen, followed by a pleasant warming sensation that spread out directly from his womb.  Like the babe was calming _him_ down; from within.

 

With a sigh, he strode over to the main door and opened it, staring down at the small page stationed there.  “Please remove the food from my room.  Its smell is displeasing.”

 

With a short curtsey, the young giant dashed into the room and removed the platter within a minute.  Nál requested a pot of fragrant tea be brought back also.

 

With a sigh, he sat on the end of the bed and concentrated on breathing slowly and evenly until his stomach had settled.

 

He then took the letter from where it was curled in his right hand, unfurling it to read the lovely script again.

 

_His Royal Majesty, Nál_

_Queen of Jötunheimr_

 

Queen Frigga had lovely penmanship was Nál’s first reaction before he broke the wax seal and unfolded the heavy cardstock.  His second was heartbreakingly bittersweet as he slowly read the letter.

 

 

_My dear Nál,_

_How blessed I am to be writing you this letter, for I carry Óðinn’s heir at last!  For years I envied your lovely boys, yearning for a child of my very own.  The Norns surely smiled upon me this year._

_We must meet again soon.  I have not seen you in many seasons now.  Your twins were but babes, still upon your breast.  I will speak to my husband and have him convey a request to have you visit us this winter, for I know how the summer vexes your disposition._

_I am excited beyond reason.  Please write back soon._

_In friendship and admiration,_

_Frigga._

_PS – Óðinn has advised he will send this with his message to your husband on the morn so this letter will arrive sooner than I dared wish._

 

He dashed the sudden tears that leaked from his eyes before rereading the letter yet again.  Pregnant!  Had Nál’s own pregnancy been able to continue publicly, he would have surely already written to the Æsir Queen to herald the news.  This news is joyous indeed, for Frigga has wanted a child for many years.  The season she and her husband, Óðinn King of the Æsir had stayed with Fárbauti and Nál, she had doted on Helblindi and Býleistr as if they were her own.  They had been only two months old at the time, so no larger than an Æsir toddler.  Frigga had cradled them and rocked them gently, cooing at them in lovely melodic tones.  The boys have no memory of her, but Nál watched them become besotted with the fair Queen just as Nál himself had.

 

With a teary smile, Nál knew Frigga would be a fantastic mother.

 

Nál slowly rose and walked over to the small writing desk against the far wall.  He sat and pulled out a sheaf of card.  Taking hold of the delicate quill, he wrote out a small note – just four sentences – before folding the card in two and tucking it away in his partially packed rucksack, along with Frigga’s letter.  Once he fastened it, he slid it back beneath the table, pushing his chair in and effectively hiding the bag from sight.

 

Two days to go.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The night before Nál was planning to leave found him pacing his room, his entire body fraught with tension.  He had been lucky enough to see his sons that afternoon when Fárbauti had come by the room.  He gave them many cuddles and kisses, only to have Fárbauti scoff and chastise him for acting like a woman.

 

Nál had scoffed right back at him, reminding him that the children were only five and therefore still his babies, no matter how tall they had grown.  She showered them in sweet kisses, sobbing inside knowing this may very well be the last she would ever see them.

 

The boys had been oblivious, of course and were giddy with happiness at the attention they were receiving from their dam.  They had climbed over his shoulders where he sat in the centre of his bed.  “Mother, mother!”  Helblindi had crowed as he successfully pinned his slightly smaller brother to the mattress.  “See how strong I am?”

 

Nál had laughed lightly and gently pulled Býleistr from beneath his burly brother.  “I wasn’t ready, Helblindi,” he pouted as he let Nál wrap his arms around him.

 

“Come now, boys,” Fárbauti had suddenly called from the doorway.  “Let your dam get his rest.  You’ll see him soon enough.”

 

“Yes father,” they had chimed, hopping down and running to the door.  Nál watched them leave, only then looking up and catching Fárbauti’s eyes.  He swore he saw them soften for a second before they were replaced by Fárbauti’s normal expression of almost constant disdain.  With a curt nod he had left the room, closing the door behind him.

 

Only now hours later, Nál was confused.  How could he do this?  Leave his sons to be brought up by Fárbauti; only hatred and lies begat them down that path surely?

 

The doubts ate away at his defences and he woke of the final day unrested and exhausted with worry.  There was a faint tapping at his door; pages bringing in his breakfast.  Since the incident with the meat the other night, the pages have been wary of bringing anything other than breads and the occasional steamed bed of juvenile kelp, which was less pungent and lighter on Nál’s stomach than the older kelp, which was generally pickled and then fried.  He was grateful to the young helpers.  They were quiet and efficient and they didn’t linger, which allowed Nál to practice his seiðr without interruptions.

 

He needed to get it under control sooner rather than later if he was to stand a chance in the Wyld.

 

He started small and worked his way up from there.  He could feel the extra power just beneath the surface.  It was a matter of harnessing and working with the extra magic; ignoring it or fighting against it only made it snap in retaliation.  Nál concentrated and let the seiðr flow through his fingers until there was a fine mist around him, his own azure seiðr, mixed with a lovely jade green.  Carefully with his mind, he pushed the mist away from him and the cloud floated toward the bed where it lifted the soft white pelt that lay atop.  With a small smile, Nál guided the pelt towards him where it gently fell to the floor directly in front of where he sat.

 

If he weren’t so exhausted, he would have hooted for joy.

 

“That’s you, little one,” he whispered quietly to his stomach, indicating the green.  “Your seiðr is alive and thriving, just as you will be.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After securing his fully packed rucksack with leather cords, Nál took a quick survey of his suite.  Everything was in its place, Fárbauti having duplicated the possessions he intended to take with him.  No use alerting the pages to something amiss lest it get back to Fárbauti.

 

Discretion was paramount.

 

It was an hour after sunset when the healer knocked and entered the room.  He was wearing a floor-length travelling coat in rich white fur with a black mink fur-lined hood.  He closed the door and removed the coat, revealing a flask held in his grasp.

 

“Your Grace,” he whispered as a way of greeting with a slight incline of his head.  “We do not have long.  This is a potion of my own making, designed to mask your identity for a short time.  You are to take on my visage and leave the palace through the front gates wearing this.”  He indicated the coat.  “I will remain here in your rooms until I can make my escape later this evening after the guards change shift at midnight.  “Are you ready?”

 

Nál nodded and accepted the flask from his outstretched hands.  “How can I ever thank you?”

 

“Cherish that child.  Raise him well.  Raise him smart.  The Norns will see him flourish.”

 

Nál nodded and ran a gentle hand over his stomach to settle the sudden burst of fluttering that erupted from within.  Then he pulled the cork from the neck and tipped it down his throat.

 

The effect was instant.  Nál felt the potion spread throughout his body, licking along his arms and legs.  Looking down, however he saw his appearance remained the same.  He gasped and looked at the healer for an explanation.

 

“You are not going to notice a difference because you are yourself - your mind will not adhere to the change.  But I can assure you, you are my mirror at this very moment.  Now you must hurry, my Queen.  We do not have long.  The potion will only last an hour at the most and we need to make sure you are as far from the palace as possible before it wears off.”

 

Nál lifted the rucksack onto his back and the healer helped him into the coat over the top.  He raised the hood to cover most of his face and made his way to the door.

 

The healer reached out and squeezed Nál’s shoulder.  “Be well, my Queen.”

 

After giving him a gentle nod to show his appreciation, Nál opened the door and walked away.

 

The corridor was deserted as was expected at this time each evening.  Once the royal family had been attended to, the pages usually took an hour to see to their own needs; eat, bathe, change uniforms.  Nál was using this time well.  He ducked down two further corridors before he left the royal wing and was heading down a servants stairwell at the end.

 

Within minutes, he had left the main palace proper and was striding across the main courtyard towards the front gates.  They were imposing, made of twisted calcified crystal, their pointed tips jagged and intimidating.  There were two guards stationed at each end.

 

Nál felt his panic begin to rise.  What if they stopped him?  What if the potion truly didn’t work?  What if all this was a ploy and the healer wasn’t genuine?  The now familiar bloom of heat began to bleed out from his little passenger almost automatically and Nál felt himself slowly calm down.  This babe was a marvel.  Only a month into existence and already protecting their mother.  If the situation wasn’t fraught with inherent danger, Nál would take the time to relay his devotion.

 

He continued to walk towards the open gate, planning to simply walk straight on through.  He was almost there!

 

“Halt!”  One of the guards boomed, causing Nál’s steps to falter.  His throat suddenly closed up and his heart began to pound within his chest as he stood waiting for the guard to approach.

 

Nál heard the footsteps of the guard crunch along the gravel path before he appeared directly in front of him.  He wore the standard uniform of a legion officer; a black fur loincloth and an obsidian vambrace on each forearm to indicate his rank.  This one was a lieutenant.  “Yes?”

 

“Who are you and where do you think you’re going?”  He grunted.

 

Nál was about to open his mouth to respond, though he actually had no idea what he was going to say, when the second soldier suddenly hissed at the first.  “That’s the Royal Healer, you idiot!  Let him through.”

 

The first guard glared at the second guard, but stepped away from Nál.  The disguise clearly worked!

 

He nodded and began walking towards the exit once more.

 

“There’s a storm coming,” the second guard added, pointing off to the night’s sky in the distance.  Indeed, when Nál followed his gaze, he could see terrible storm clouds lighting up with electric arcs followed closely by rumbling thunder.  He gauged twenty minutes at most before it hit.

 

‘I’ll be fine,” he growled and continued on his way.

 

The storm took half an hour to reach Nál, but by then, the palace was nothing more than a small bright dot behind him.  He didn’t stop, he didn’t slow.  Jötunn eyesight being far superior to the Æsir, he was able to identify any hairline faults or fractures in the icy ground beneath his leather-bound feet and avoided them carefully.  The rain was relentless, and barely above freezing, but Nál still did not waver.  He continued to walk.

 

After several hours, Nál rested for a few minutes under a small rocky outcrop, drinking sparingly from his canteen and eating a small strip of dried bilgesnipe; far more agreeable to his stomach than seal meat.  The moon was almost completely hidden behind the storm cloud; its light fracturing across the sky and showing Nál to full extent of the rolling front.

 

With a sigh, he readjusted his pack and continued.

 

After walking for more than a week, it was when dawn’s gentle light began seeping through on the eighth morning that the storm finally abated. Nál looked up at the sky as the clouds broke apart and shone the first rays of the day down onto the plane in front of him; and beyond that was the forest’s edge.  At last!

 

He almost ran to the tree line, he was so relieved.  He stopped then to take another mouthful of water before shrinking it with seiðr once more and returning it to his rucksack.  Just as he took a step into the forest, he heard the nearby caw of a raven.  Nál turned and pulled back the hood of the cape to see the black bird land on a nearby branch.  Immediately Nál was defensive for Ravens were wily creatures, often precursors to bad news.

 

It wasn’t until a second landed beside the first on the very same branch that Nál questioned their intent.  “You are Huginn and Muninn, are you not?”

 

They remained silent, but each cocked their head to the side and stared back at him, unblinking.

 

Nál dropped his bag and removed the small folded card he had written out to Frigga several days earlier.  He broke a loose thread from his tunic and used it to tie the letter to the leg of one of the ravens.  Nál almost huffed with mirth at how still the bird stood as he tied the card securely.

 

“Take this to your Queen.  No one else.”

 

With that, they took to flight.  Nál re-shouldered his bag and immediately continued into the trees, disappearing from sight within moments.

 

_I do this for you, my precious baby._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Frigga was getting worried.  And she never worried.  Indeed, for her loom showed her much and the Norns never allowed an inch.  She paced back and forth in the gardens beside her private rooms, running a distracted hand along the velvety roses, bursting in full bloom; heralding spring in Ásgarðr.  She hadn’t heard back from Nál and it had now been over a week since she had sent her letter.  In fact, no one had heard anything out of Jötunheimr in days.  Óðinn had visited Hliðskjálf, but he only reported Fárbauti raging at his advisors.  She had asked after Nál, but Óðinn had said the private rooms of the royal family had been warded from sight.  So she had sighed and waited.  And waited some more.  It had been days since then and still no word.

 

She huffed and continued to pace.  One of her handmaidens, Astrid was following behind her, holding a skein of yarn from which Frigga had been spooling ready for her next tapestry.

 

She felt a mighty kick from beneath her ribs and gasped at the sheer force it yielded, coming to a stop beside a lovely peony as it sat open and blushing a pale pink.  The sky rumbled with thunder and a small storm cloud rolled in from the north.

 

“My Queen, are you well?” Astrid asked with a concerned downturn of her lovely mouth.  Frigga laughed mirthfully and rubbed her rapidly growing bump; still small in size, but getting larger with every passing day.

 

“Yes, Astrid.  I am well.  Though I am barely into this pregnancy and Óðinn’s heir is surely bruising my insides.”

 

“Would you like me to fetch Eir?”

 

Frigga knew of Astrid’s growing fear for she herself had felt it early on also.  Surely no babe barely into its own existence would be developing so fast?  But Eir had been over her from top to toe; both she and the baby were healthy.  Frigga’s seiðr was strong; her baby’s seiðr was just as strong.  Frigga’s was gold.  Óðinn’s was white.  Their child’s was blue.

 

She had felt its seiðr call out to the realm.  And she had listened when the thunder responded.

 

A son.

 

He would be a god.

 

He would be the Stormbringer.

 

“No, Astrid.  I just need to sit for a bit.  How about we go over there?”  Frigga asked, pointing over at the small grassy patch beneath a tree in full blossom.

 

They make their way over to the lush knoll and gently settled under the canopy.  Dappled light filtered through and a slight breeze teased the longer blades of grass to tickle their ankles.  The small storm cloud had since moved away and Frigga sighed as she leant back against the trunk, bringing a smiling Astrid back with her; tucking her in under her shoulder.  “Much better.”

 

The buzz of nearby crickets lulled the ladies into a comfortable calm.  The afternoon was cheery and fair and with nothing further pressing on their time, they napped.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Frigga woke to the caw of her husband’s ravens a little while later.  She watched as they glided down from their perch in the tree to land on the soft grass beside her.  That’s when she spied it.

 

The letter; attached to Huginn’s leg with string.  Frigga broke the knot and pulled the letter away from its binding, immediately unfolding it to read.

 

_My dear Frigga,_

_I too carry a babe.  I have fled Fárbauti in fear.  I will contact you soon._

_Burn this._

_Nál._

 

With a flick of her wrist, Frigga ignited the card in a flash of white and within seconds it was nothing more than ash blanketing the grass beside her.

 

The flash caused Astrid to wake with a start beside her.  She blinked up at her Queen in confusion.  “Your Grace?  Are you well?”

 

_Are you well?_

_Oh Nál, are you well?_

 

 


	2. The Golden Warrior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my lovelies [Sam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MalfoyLover_1/pseuds/MalfoyLover_1), [Magic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CoCoKrispies/) and [Mona](http://%20archiveofourown.org/users/sexyscholar/pseuds/sexualthorientation) for the beta xx

_Year: 867_

 

It was all Fandral’s fault!

 

Thor growled and continued walking through the wood, swinging Mjölnir around carelessly in a fit of pique.

 

It was Fandral’s stupid idea to split up to try and flush the bilgesnipe out from the trees.  Thor had been at it for almost four hours now, and still no bilgesnipe.  He was growing tired and wished to return to their camp.

 

Only, Thor didn’t remember seeing that copse of pine before.

 

Nor did he remember passing that stream before now.

 

He stopped and looked around.  He didn’t recognise any of his current surroundings.  With a huff of frustration, he realised he was lost.

 

Very lost.

 

_Damn!_

 

He had yet to master the use of his new weapon, which rendered the beautiful hammer useless to his plight.  He squinted up at the sky.  It was so overcast that he couldn’t see where the sun was.  He was in a forest he didn’t know, in a realm that wasn’t his own, without his bearings.  He groaned.

 

He opened and checked the contents of his satchel.  Nothing in there but a piece of fruit, his bunched up travelling cloak and a length of rope.

 

“When I find that smug bastard, I’m going to give him such a walloping,” he hissed and sat down against one of the nearby trees.

 

After a while, he calmed down enough to think rationally.  If he continued to wander around, he would probably do more damage than good.  So he decided to make use of what material he had and stay put for the time being.  He pulled out his travelling cloak and after spreading it out over himself; he promptly closed his eyes and fell asleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Ooooh, what is this?”

 

Thor woke with a start and leapt to his feet, Mjölnir in hand.  He looked left, then right.  Then he spun in a complete circle, trying to find the source of the voice that woke him.

 

“Is this a weapon?”

 

Thor jumped and looked up.  There was a tiny Jötunn sitting on one of the lower branches of the tree he had been sleeping against until a minute ago.

 

The boy was almost completely naked, save a small triangular loincloth of sable fur.  He also had long glossy black hair that fell in waves around small curved horns, which were adorned with shiny gold chains and what appeared to be small rubies.  He had a strong jawline, a long straight nose and almond-shaped blood-red eyes framed by long thick eyelashes.  _Eyelashes_?  Thor had never noticed eyelashes on anyone before; not even Sif!

 

His cerulean skin looked pale in the fading light of the day, but even then, Thor found it to be the loveliest shade of blue he had ever seen, as were the delicate swirls of his Heritage Markings; like filigree dancing across his skin.

 

He was _beautiful_.

 

Thor continued to stand there and stare at the Jötunn until he remembered he had been asked a question.  “Is what a weapon?”

 

The boy held up a peach.  “This furry ball.”

 

Thor’s gaze instantly went to the bottom of the tree where he had left his satchel, only to find it wasn’t there.  He flicked his eyes back up and saw it was now in the possession of the Jötunn.  “It’s a peach.”

 

“A peach?”

 

“You’ve never heard of a peach?”

 

The boy shook his head before tossing into the air and catching it.  “Do you throw it?”

 

“You eat it.”

 

He watched with amused fascination as the Jötunn sniffed the peach before tentatively touching the furry surface of the fruit with the tip of his pink tongue.  After he apparently found nothing amiss, he bit into it, the juice running down his throat and chest.

 

Thor found himself feeling a sense of warmth spread through his chest at the sight before him.  The Jötunn’s obvious delight in the peach was endearing and he smiled.  “Good, is it not?”

 

“By the Norns, it’s delicious!  I’ve never tasted anything so… so…”  He bit into the fruit again, his voice becoming muffled.  Thor chuckled at his companion’s enthusiasm, but found his eyes were lingering on where the juice was travelling downwards, slowly dripping past his clavicle now, through the centre of his pectorals and continuing down towards his firm and well-defined abdominals.

 

How old was he?  He had at first simply assumed he was a boy because he looked more or less as tall as Thor, and that being Jötunn, he was only a child.  But children didn’t have muscled chests, or clearly outlined abs or muscular legs, which were currently swinging back and forth while their owner was humming around the fruit.  He wore a small silver anklet around one leg that emitted a melodic ring on each swing.

 

Thor’s eyes now danced around the man’s features with growing interest.  He continued to watch as the Jötunn finished off the peach, throwing away the pit before he began to thoroughly lick clean his long, tapered fingers; putting each digit into his mouth and pulling them out slowly.  He began making little mewling sounds as he sat there licking the sticky juice off himself, which Thor found maybe a touch unnecessary when felt his cheeks start to flush.

 

When he was finished, he opened up the satchel and looked back inside.  Seconds later he frowned.  “Oh.  Well, that’s it, I guess.”  And he let the satchel drop back to the base of the tree.  Thor frowned indignantly and bent over to pick it up.

 

“Hey!  You had the peach _.  My peach_.  What more do you want?”

 

“Like a sword.  Or a dagger.  Something fun.”

 

“Weapons are fun to you?”

 

The Jötunn suddenly sprang from the tree and landed silently on the soft earth beside Thor.  As suspected, he was only a couple of inches shorter.  He smiled widely, showing off his even white teeth and where his beautifully hued skin tightened across the bridge of his nose when his eyes joined in his smile.  Thor thought him exquisite.

 

“Well, yes,” he replied with a smirk.  “All I do is read, read, _read_.  I read about wars, about history, about the death and destruction of tyrannical rule,” he said with an exaggerated droll voice.  “Don’t get me wrong, I love reading, but sometimes it gets so boring.”  Then he started to dance around Thor on light feet.  “But to actually be where the action is.  Oh, how exciting.”

 

In truth, Thor wanted to smile at his little Jötunn’s display, but for some reason he also wanted to protect him from the absolute horror of true war.  He was surely the elder of the two.  Maybe he should set an example?

 

“War is terrible,” was all Thor said as a way of reply.

 

“Truly,” the man agreed.

 

He was still moving around Thor in a slow manner.  Not quite relaxed, but in no way on guard.  Thor turned his head and let his eyes follow the Jötunn.  He moved with almost unnatural grace and Thor could sense he was being sized up as well.  His red eyes darted over Thor’s form just as Thor’s blue eyes darted over his.  When their gazes met however, they both stopped moving and turned to face one another.

 

“Who are you?” The Jötunn sneered, but without malice.

 

“Thor.”

 

“Just Thor?  Not _Thor the Mighty_?  Or _Thor the Terrible_?” He said with a chuckle.

 

Thor frowned and crossed his arms.  “No.  Why would I do that?”

 

“That’s usually what the warriors call themselves when they hunt in these woods.  Like ‘I am Snorre the all-powerful’.”

 

Thor chuckled.  “Just Thor is fine.”  After a pause, he continued.  “And what about you?  What’s your name?”

 

“Loki.”

 

“Just Loki?  Not Loki the Mischievous or Loki the—“

 

“ _Silvertongue,_ ” the Jötunn finished with a calculated grin.  “My dam says I have a wicked tongue, always twisting his words to my will.”

 

“Loki the _Silvertongue_ ,” Thor tested.  “I like it.”

 

 _Of course you like it, you filthy deviant._  He scolded himself.  It generated all manner of wicked scenes in his mind.

 

“So, you’re lost then?”  Loki asked suddenly with a smirk before dancing his way back around Thor.  Maybe Mischievous really was the better moniker.

 

“Well yes.  I’m here with my friends and we got separated.  Our camp lies on the North-West edge of the wood, but I was going to wait until late afternoon so I could see the sun’s position before proceeding,”  Thor responded with an indignant lilt to his voice.  It still smarted that he got lost in the first place.

 

Loki leant against a tree and hooked a thumb over his shoulder.  “North-West is that way.  Would you like me to guide you safely back to your camp, _Just Thor_?”

 

Thor felt his cheeks burn with humiliation, vexed at his own actions; seventeen and lost in the woods like a mere boy of ten.  But for all his indignity, he couldn’t deny the glaring facts.  He _was,_ in fact lost and Loki _was_ offering to help.  After a pause, he smiled.  “Yes, I would very much appreciate your help, Loki _Silvertongue_.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So, what’s Ásgarðr like?”  Loki asked as they walked through the dense forest.  Nothing so far seemed familiar to Thor, but then again it was his inattention that had landed him lost in the first place.

 

They had been walking for about an hour, talking about all manner of things.  Loki asked a lot of questions, such as what were some of Thor’s favourite foods, what kind of food was on Ásgarðr, what other sweet things had Thor tried in the past that he thought Loki may like?

 

Loki liked to talk about food.  A lot.

 

Thor figured if the Jötunn had never tried fruit, there would be a lot of things he didn’t know about.  Cakes, jam, biscuits, small bowls of vanilla custard sprinkled with nutmeg (Thor’s personal favourite).  Oh my, and honey; would he even know honey?  Thinking about how much Loki had truly missed out on made Thor sad.

 

“Hot, bright, lovely,” he answered with a soft voice.

 

Loki hummed and cocked his head to regard his companion.  “So basically, the opposite of here?”

 

Thor gave a small sad smile.  “Not at all, Loki.  I think this realm beautiful in its own way.  The mountains and even the tundra plains are all beautiful.  There is nothing like it anywhere else in all the branches of Yggdrasil.  Even this forest is beautiful.”

 

“You think the forest is beautiful?” Loki scoffed.  “I’ve lived here my whole life; never known anywhere else.  If this is truly seen as the pinnacle of beauty, then I think I shall like the rest of the realms not,” he said, throwing his arms out in a wide arc to indicate the trees that surrounded them.

 

Thor stopped walking and watched as Loki turned back to face him.  Thor tried not to, but he couldn’t not stare at the exquisite features of the Jötunn in front of him.  Despite their jarring colour, Thor thought Loki’s eyes were the loveliest he had ever seen.  His hair fell in glossy black waves down his back and Thor found he itched to let it run through his fingers.  “I didn’t say pinnacle, but yes, this forest is indeed beautiful.  It’s quiet and holds many secrets.  It may look frozen, but if you look just beneath the surface, it’s lush and thick and full of life.  And it is home to many things; many beautiful things,” Thor finished on a whisper and quickly continued walking; trying to force away the blush he knew was staining his cheeks.

 

Loki hummed thoughtfully beside him as they continued to walk.

 

Loki led him along for another hour, casting little glances Thor’s way, only to dart his eyes away the second Thor’s connected with his.  Thor chuckled and would then change the subject; The Wyld, what it was like living and growing up in such a large wilderness.  Loki would smile and start talking about how even though the winters were long and cold, he and his dam lived for the mild summers that followed.  How they would go exploring for weeks at a time, hunting and foraging for all kinds of wonderful things.

 

They were so preoccupied talking about the volcano that lay to the north of the highest mountain range that Thor didn’t realise they had made it to Thor’s camp until Loki came to a stop beside a very large, very old tree.  The trunk was scarred and weathered from years of seasons beating down on it.  Loki leant back against it and waited until Thor came to stand beside him.  He watched as Loki began tracing his fingers along the deep grooves in the bark, his face turned away as if hiding.

 

“Your camp is just through those trees there,” he suddenly said, nodding his head to indicate the copse of trees not twenty feet in front of them.  Thor could see a spire of smoke funnelling its way up to the clouds in sluggish grey plumes.  “Do try not to get lost again, Just Thor.  I may not be around next time to save you.”

 

Rubbing the back of his neck, he chuckled.  “I’ll try.”  He wanted to ask to see him again, but he didn’t know how to ask.  Nor did he know how to reach him.  As evident by his recent adventure, the forest was large and dense and more than simple to get lost in.  Where did Loki even live?  Thor made no move to leave him and after a moment, it became terribly awkward.   Thor smiled nervously.  “Thank you, Loki Silvertongue.”

 

Loki smiled and reached out to remove a fallen leaf from Thor’s hair.  “I like you well, golden son of Ásgarðr.  We shall meet again, I think.”

 

Thor extended his arm and placed a gentle hand on Loki’s shoulder; his skin was strangely cool to the touch and not as icy as he had thought.  Moments later, he felt a spark snap at the contact.  Loki gave a slight shudder, so he lifted his hand immediately.  Was he wrong to touch?  But as if in answer to his silent question, Loki took hold of Thor’s hand and gave a tentative smile.

 

Thor beamed back in kind.  “W-where can I find you?”

 

Loki looked down at where they were touching and Thor watch the small blush creep across his face.

 

“I-I live half a day’s walk north-east of here at the base of the mountains,” he whispered.

 

Thor smiled then and gently squeezed Loki’s fingers in reassurance.  “See, now I am certain we will meet again.”

 

Loki grinned then and opened his mouth to say something when there was a sudden noise to their right.  Immediately Loki snatched his hand back with a gasp and stepped away as Thor turned to find the source of the racket.

 

_Crash!_

 

“Thor?  Where have you been?” Volstagg suddenly bellowed from across the way.  Thor watched as Volstagg crashed through a bramble bush on his way over where Thor stood.

 

“We have been waiting for you.  We almost caught a bilgesnipe, but ended up catching a Great Elk instead.  So far, it’s delicious,” he boomed happily, holding up a large meaty bone and biting into it noisily.

 

Thor chuckled at his large companion.  “I’m sorry, my friend.  I was waylaid.  But fear not, my new friend here helped me find my way back.”

 

“Who?”

 

“My frie—” Thor turned to where Loki had been standing not a minute earlier to find the tree bare.  He was nowhere to be found.  Thor frowned and ran a hand through his hair.  He felt a painful jolt through his chest at the thought of not seeing the Jötunn again.  Quickly schooling his expression, he turned back to Volstagg and smiled brightly.

 

“Never mind. I am here now.  What were you saying about roast elk?”

 

Thor followed Volstagg back through the trees to their camp, not noticing the blue boy sitting in the tree above, watching silently.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“…so, after the bilgesnipe ripped my blade away, it turned back to launch itself at me.  Luckily, Hogan here used the dumb creature’s blind spot to slice the side of its neck.  Didn’t bleed much though.  It just howled and ran off before we could land the death blow,” Fandral exclaimed, leaning back against the log he was using as a chair.  It was dark and they all sat around the roaring fire Volstagg had lit.  They had long finished feasting on the elk they had felled earlier and were already deep into the barrel of mead Thor had brought along.

 

Thor smiled at the animated stories his friends were recounting for his enjoyment, having missed all the excitement; according to them.  He thought back to his own adventure and found himself having had preferred his own journey here.  Loki was a mystery.  One Thor intended on solving.

 

If only he knew where to start.

 

“…and then Sif caught sight of the elk.  First arrow she loosed was the kill shot,” Fandral continued.  “I envy your archery skills, Sif.”

 

The warrior in question was currently in the process of filling her stein from the barrel, turning her head to look back at Fandral with a wicked gleam in her eyes.  “I fear that be not all you envy, dear Fandral.  For my sword skills easily surpass your own also.”

 

Fandral feigned offense before waving her off.  “Leave off, Sif.  There is no way your skills surpass my own,” he scoffed with a smile.

 

“Care to wager?” She snickered, now settling back in her spot and taking a large mouthful of her mead.

 

Volstagg laughed heartily and clapped his hands together in gleeful anticipation.  “A wager, eh?  What are the terms?”

 

Fandral wiped his mouth with the back of his hands and put his now empty stein on the grass beside him.  “She has to proclaim my prowess publicly.  Something along the lines of ‘ _oh Fandral, you are the greatest swordsman I’ve ever met and all should fall at your feet in worship_ ’.”

 

Sif sprayed the mouthful of mead in an impressive arc, some of it landing on Thor’s breeches where he sat beside her.  Hogan merely snickered quietly, but said nothing.  “That will never happen, you oaf.  So you’d better start thinking of something else,” she said with a laugh.

 

“Thor!” Fandral suddenly bellowed.  “Help us out here.  What should our terms for this wager be?”

 

Thor held his hands up in supplication and shook his head with a chuckle.  “No, no, no.  I’m not partaking in your competitive wars again.  I’m still reeling from your last wager.  Whose ridiculous idea was it to sabotage the suits of armour lining Valaskjálf to tumble during Vetrnætr again?”  Fandral raised his hand meekly.  Thor smirked, but remained steadfast in his refusal.  “You two will always be at each other.  I like my money right where I left it.”

 

“In your Mother’s purse?” Volstagg said with a grin.

 

“In the royal treasury?” chimed in Sif.

 

Thor gave a hearty, genuine laugh before standing.  “You know me well, friends, but I’m for sleep.  Getting lost was exhausting and I still plan on slaying a bilgesnipe before this trip is over.  See you in the morn.”  Volstagg and Fandral sang out their protests, but Sif raised her stein in acquiescence and Hogan merely nodded.  Thor bowed and turned towards his tent.

 

As he lay listening to his friends continue their merriment, he sighed and closed his eyes, thinking of Loki.  That warm lick of fire deep in his belly had yet to settle.  He ran his thumb along the opposing fingers of his right hand, remembering the spark when he had touched Loki’s shoulder.  It had been like lightning.  Electric.

 

And he wanted more.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, they broke their fast on the remaining fruit and bread before packing their camp up.  Fandral sat groaning and taking long pulls from his wineskin, clearly worse-for-wear than the others.  Sif stood at her horse, securing her tent and tsking her hungover companion.  “Fandral, stop acting like a freshly-weened pup and finish packing your kit,” she said this louder than even Thor deemed necessary.  Thor smirked as he watched her glare over at Fandral.  Volstagg and Hogun scoffed and shook their heads with mirth.

 

“You _vile_ woman!  You poisoned me!” he growled.  Sif laughed and strode over to where he sat, reaching out and grasping his ear between her thumb and forefinger.  “Arrgh!”  He yelled as she pulled him to his feet roughly.

 

“Oh, you’d know if I poisoned you; you’d be dead!  Now quit your caterwauling and get on with it,” she said as she shoved him towards his horse with a huff.

 

Fandral stumbled a little before righting himself and picking up his pack.  “ _Norns_ Sif, you don’t have to be such a jerk about it,” he griped softly.

 

Sif stepped into her stirrup and pulled herself gracefully into her saddle before looking back at Fandral with a grin.  “Only with you, my dear.”

 

Fandral grinned back at her.

 

Thor turned back to his own pack, securing the last of his things before quickly surveying the campsite for anything they may leave behind.  As he had lain in his tent last night, he had seriously contemplated leaving something behind for Loki to find, but ultimately had decided against it.  Loki may not be the only one out there and he didn’t want to unintentionally put his friends in danger if the person who found his clue wasn’t Loki or worse, wasn’t friendly.

 

As Thor swung up into his saddle, he closed his eyes and felt a pull of regret.  Loki would no longer know where he was.  Would he ever see the Jötunn again?  Did the Jötunn even want to see him again?

 

These questions continued to plague his mind, even as they all slowly urged their mounts deeper into the forest.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come and visit my [tumblr](http://www.fourletterwordsstartingwithl.tumblr.com)


	3. The Blue Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Magic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CoCoKrispies/), [Sam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MalfoyLover_1/pseuds/MalfoyLover_1), [Mona](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyscholar/pseuds/sexualthorientation) and [radiatorfromspace](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RadiatorfromSpace/pseuds/RadiatorfromSpace%22) for your advice and beta xx

 

 

Loki woke and opened his eyes to the sight of Nál tending to the fire on the far side of their den.  “Did you sleep well, little one?” his dam asked without looking over.  How he knew the very instant Loki had woken was beyond Loki’s current skill set, but he vowed to one day ask him.

 

“Yes Mother, quite well,” he replied on a yawn, sitting up to stretch and look around their small, but comfortable home.  It was actually a cave, carved from the bedrock at the base of the mountain.  The opening was narrow and had been fashioned into an overlapping passage by Nál using his seiðr.  Having the entrance styled as such cut out almost all of the bitter wind.  They had since adorned it with seiðr-infused cured pelts to further keep out not only the remainder of the icy wind, but all manner of beasts.  Those passing close by would see only the rock-face and nothing more.

 

The room itself was circular in shape, with two small alcoves set into the wall at the far end; one for each ‘bed’ area, both with curtains to pull across for privacy.  Their beds were piled high with pelts and feather-stuffed mattresses from their many successful hunts.  Loki usually accompanied his dam on most hunts.  One of the first things Nál had taught Loki was to be self-sufficient in the Wyld and Loki would forever try and prove himself a worthy hunter, often bringing home small game for supper; plucking the feathers to use in their mattresses and pillows and preserving their delicate bones for spellcasting and potion-craft.

 

Along the back wall were piles and piles of books.  Loki was a voracious reader already and actually spent one long and miserable winter attempting to read every book Nál had, but each time he finished a book and would move to take the next one, he would find two new books in its place that he hadn’t seen before.  Nál would give a small smile and return to whatever task he had been doing before Loki had cried out in consternation at being swindled again.

 

His dam’s little games aside, but that had been one of Loki’s favourite winters to date.  They had read and learnt so much and still to this day, Loki had yet to finish reading every book his mother had stacked against the far wall.

 

Past the wall of books was a small area for washing.  A bright copper tub for bathing sat elevated on a wooden pallet to prevent rot and was brought here by Nál some years ago after he had trekked to a village to the east of the forest’s edge.  Loki remembered asking if he could come along, only to have his mother vehemently refuse him much to his displeasure.  Two days later, Nál had returned with the tub and many different soaps and oils.  Loki had forgiven his mother even before he had left, but made a show of taking the gifts with a contrite smile.

 

Loki’s lessons had begun early.  He was barely walking when Nál began teaching him the art of Seiðrcraft, which Nál said he had picked up like breathing.  A few hours every day had proven the ‘practice makes perfect’ adage quite accurately.  Now, as a proficient seventeen year old, Loki was quite practiced in many aspects of the craft, mostly defensive and practical spells, although there were some spells he had been taught that were of a more offensive nature; learning to attack when attacked, small seemingly harmless spells that were actually quite lethal when used correctly – slowing someone’s heartrate down, or speeding it up, for example.

 

The only thing Loki was not able to control was the ability to renew his seiðr whilst using it.  He tired easily and would tap his reserves quite quickly.  Nál had shown him to control his breathing and how to calm his core down enough to encourage self-renewal, but he had yet to master this skill.

 

His dam never once became frustrated with Loki for his inability to grasp this seemingly simple skill, but Loki felt his shame rise exponentially with each passing day.  He had taken to leaving of a morning and walking far into the forest to work on building his stamina by practising in secret.

 

Each night he would return home, sometimes covered in a thick red mud made from rich fertile loam mixed with snow and painted onto his Jötunn skin in intricate runes and symbols.  Nál would watch him wash the mud off as he muttered to himself before wordlessly making Loki a cup of tea and sitting him down amongst his furs.  Sometimes he would leave Loki to himself and his thoughts. Other nights, he would sit alongside his son and pass him a book; asking him to read a chapter aloud.

 

Nál never directly asked what he did when he went walking.  Only a mother’s quiet inquisition on the day’s he returned more stressed than normal.  If Loki was of a mood to, he would disclose his frustration at whatever spell was vexing him.  Nál would patiently listen before helping Loki overcome his hurdle.  He would never be condescending or contrite, for which Loki was grateful.

 

This morning in particular, he was also glad Nál had chosen not to press upon why he had returned later than usual the night before.  The sun had long since set from its already low shelf on the horizon by the time he had pulled back the pelts protecting the entrance to find Nál sitting on his pile of furs, reading a large tome with seiðr-light bobbing in the air beside his head.

 

He had merely looked up at his son with an arched eyebrow before returning to his book.  Loki had made his way over to his own pile of furs, settling down for the night without making eye contact with his dam.  He had expected to be berated for being out past his curfew of sundown, so for Nál to simply ignore him had piqued Loki’s curiosity.

 

Just a little.  Not enough to ask.

 

He was curious - not stupid.

 

Reaching out, Loki picked up the deep emerald woollen shawl he favoured above others and wrapped it around his pale blue shoulders as he made over to where Nál was preparing breakfast.  Even with their vast size difference, Nál had never made an issue of its obvious limitations; their furniture was mostly overstuffed cushions or pelts, which negated the need for height adjustment.  The only piece of furniture in their home where size was a factor was their dining table and the two chairs that sat beside it; one was higher and one was lower. 

 

Loki hopped up onto the higher of the two chairs and watched as Nál placed the plate of kelp and grilled quail in the centre of the table before taking his own seat.  After serving up the offering onto their plates, Loki poured them each a cup of cold water and took a sip of his before putting it aside in favour of the food in front of him.  One of the first things Nál had done when he had chosen this cave as their dwelling was to plumb pipes directly from the glacier that cut through the cliff-face not 50 yards away.  It had been no mean feat, but with his perseverance and determination, he had successfully brought fresh running water into their home.  Nál had since spent many years further harnessing the glacier’s own strength, enabling the two Jötunns to not only have fresh running water, but also small vault-like room beyond the washroom where food was stored within the ice-cold wall; preserving it and keeping it from spoiling.

 

“So my sweet one, how fares your studying?” Nál began as he nibbled on a slice of kelp.  Loki took a drawn-out gulp of his water, being sure to school his expression into one of absolute neutrality.

 

“Well, Mother,” he provided, quickly picking up a quail and pulling it apart. “I’ve finished the latest book you had me read.”

 

Nál leaned forward and smiled.  “What was your favourite part?”

 

“Favourite part of the history of the royal bloodline of Útgarðr?” Loki asked with a cocked head.

 

His dam nodded slowly, the small golden bells adorning his horns tinkering lightly as he did.  “Do you have any opinions on their war with Þrymheimr?”

 

Loki didn’t know how to respond.  To be honest, stories of slaughter never interested him; instead stories of cunning and intelligent warfare fared much better in his mind.  Then he recalled his conversation with Thor the previous day and his heart sank.  “War is terrible,” Loki whispered absentmindedly while biting into his quail.

 

“Truly.”

 

Loki’s head whipped back to look at his mother only to find him looking back with a strange vacant look on his face, his eyes clouded and paler than their normal blood red.  For a moment, Loki’s heart stopped at the sight before Nál suddenly shook his head, as if breaking the trance and looking down at his son.  “A wise man knows the tragedy and horror of war, verily, but will still sacrifice many to gain much.  You need both a heart and to be heartless when ruling.  Such balance comes with experience, to be sure, but to be aware of both is where your true power lies.”

 

Loki watched his dam return to eating his breakfast while he sat in confusion as to what had just transpired.  “Mother, are you well?”

 

If Nál had been disturbed by his sudden trance-like stupor, he didn’t show it.  Instead he smiled down at his small son and nodded, picking up his cup of water.  “I am well, my darling boy.”  He took a sip and closed his eyes momentarily.  “However, I must make a journey.”

 

“A journey?  A journey where?”

 

Nál gave a small shake of his head, causing his long glossy black hair to be shaken loose from its hastily tied cord.  “Fear not, Loki.  I will be gone no more than a week.  I must visit the high mountain.  My seiðr is strongest there.”

 

Loki sat silent as he watched his dam leave his seat and walk over to his corner of the den.  After a few minutes of placing a couple of things into a well-worn satchel, he turned back to his son.  “Whilst I’m gone, I want you to read this,” he said, placing a faded brown leather-bound book with golden gilded lettering on the front.

 

_Ásgarðr: Royal Bloodline of Bör, Bestla and the house of Búra_

 

“Ásgarðr?  Why would I read about Ásgarðr?  I’ve not studied other realms before,” Loki asked quietly, even as his fingers ran along the soft edges of the leather cover.  Thor was from Ásgarðr he thought silently to himself; the golden man had not strayed far from the forefront of his mind since their encounter.

 

Nál adjusted the satchel over his shoulder and reached for his travelling coat.  “Well, don’t you think now is as good a time as any to begin, my son?”

 

Loki cracked open the book to see each page border beautifully etched in filigree.  _It was lovely_.  Still, he didn’t want to seem too eager lest his dam assign him homework like he had when Loki had read about the flora of Jötunheimr and the seiðr-assisting properties each possessed.  He feigned nonchalance and gently thumbed the binding.  “I guess.”

 

“Wonderful!” Nál exclaimed happily and after placing a gentle kiss upon his son’s head, made his way to the entrance.  “Now, I trust you won’t go wandering off too far whilst I’m away?  Your daily adventures are becoming longer by the day and I’m known to worry, son.”

 

Loki smirked at his mother and shook his head.  “I promise I’ll return each night, mother.”

 

Nál seemed to consider this for a few seconds before nodding.  “Good.  I love you, Loki.  I’ll be sure to hurry back.”  Lifting the skins to look out at the forest around them, he stopped and looked back.  “Read.”

 

Loki groaned wryly and watched as his mother walked out, letting the skins fall back into place.

 

After finishing his breakfast and cleaning up, Loki made himself comfortable amongst his pile of furs and opened the book Nál had given him.

 

Why his dam was suddenly interested in having Loki learn about Ásgarðr was beyond him, but he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and comply.

 

Ásgarðr.  _Thor_.

 

He couldn’t help but let his mind wander immediately away from the pages in front of him and back to the other man.  How golden his skin was… so different from Loki’s own cold blue patina.  How warm he felt when Thor had held his hand yesterday; his muscles flexing beneath the touch.

 

Loki felt heat pool low in his belly and a flush bloom across his face.  He had read about attraction in one of his mother’s many books, but had never envisaged himself ever experiencing the sensation.  He let the tome fall from his hands into his lap as he leaned back against the furs.  With a small smile, he placed a cool hand against his flaming cheek and took a deep breath.

 

Eventually the flush in his cheeks melted away, but the heat in his belly remained.

 

His mother had never spoken to Loki about what would happen when Loki came of age.  Would he be married off?  Would Nál keep Loki here with him, alone in the forest for his long life; locked away from the rest of the realm?  Loki shook his head as if physically disputing his inner thought was enough to chase it away permanently.  No, his dam had plans, he was certain of it.  Without question, Nál held education in the highest esteem.  From as early as Loki could remember, Nál was forever reading to him, teaching him.  Pushing him to question history’s mistakes.

 

But knowledge was of no consequence when one was cloistered.

 

Loki would be turning eighteen in a few short months and he had never even been kissed.  Thinking about Thor made Loki feel younger than he was.  Had Thor had already experienced these things?  Things that Loki was once again entertaining the thought of with a blush.

 

And then he was mad at himself for even thinking these things.  Of course Thor had experienced these things.  He was a beautiful bright warrior from Ásgarðr; he was certain their women were lush and feminine and buxom.  Loki was small and firm and blue and strange.  Nothing Thor would want surely.  Surely?

 

Picking up the forgotten book, he opened and made an attempt to absorb the information provided.

 

The first couple of pages gave a brief history of Ásgarðr, but Loki’s eyes merely skipped that part.  After a while, he found his eyes skipping most passages in favour of darting to the doorway of the cave and back to the book.

 

He was alone.  For a week.  And Thor was still out there.

 

Blushing even though nobody was there to see him, Loki put the book aside and got to his feet.  Maybe he could catch up with the large man again.  He smiled in spite of himself before tying back his wayward hair with a piece of leather cord and reaching for two golden chains hanging by his bed, softly humming while he wrapped his horns.  He never left them bare except for when he slept (because leaving your horns bare when young and unmated was unseemly, his mother would say).  Bare horns were for husbands to share together for they were sacred to Jötunn culture.  On the name day of his thirteenth year, Nál had gifted him with two delicate gold chains adorned with many tiny emeralds.  Loki always favoured them over his other jewellery as he loved how the gems glittered.

 

Once he had finished decorating his horns, he grabbed his two loveliest daggers and slid them neatly inside the small woven belt he had made himself the previous summer.  The knives had been a gift from the Queen of another realm; his mother had told him when he was handed the pale silk bundle not two years ago.  The fabric spilling across his lap in waves of luscious colour as he pulled away the ribbon holding them wrapped.  He had gasped in awe at their beauty.  The blades were thin and long and had been folded with meticulous skill and care by whomever had forged them.  They were fashioned with delicately carved bone handles and studded with rubies that shone brightly along the hilt.  They were beautiful, but viciously sharp.  They were the very embodiment of deception and as such, Loki loved them instantly; why go trumpeting into a battle when you can be sneaky and attack from behind?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When he arrived at the site he had delivered Thor not twenty-four hours prior, Loki found the area abandoned.  He was both mildly annoyed and startled by the sudden tightening in his chest.  He remembered Thor telling him that he and his companions were planning on heading deeper into the forest to hunt the bilgesnipe, so his reaction to them not being here was unfounded.  Loki was scared to admit it, but the thought of never seeing Thor again was not one he wanted to entertain.

 

Loki turned and looked out past the trees opposite to where he stood, wondering how much time had passed since they had left.  He began stalking around the area, taking note of the disturbed earth and several sets of footprints, including those of their horses.  The fire was cold on the surface but a quick check of the embers beneath found them warm.  Sunrise.  They had left at sunrise; maybe an hour past at the latest.  Loki grinned and took off through the trees.  He was only just over two hours behind them.  He could catch up in no time using his knowledge of the forest in his favour.

 

The forest was quiet and dark as he made his way along.  Loki twice caught himself entering a grove where small herds of deer were startled into fleeing.  Loki often forgot how silent his feet were on the damp leaves littering the forest floor.  It was early still.  The pale light barely filtering down through the dense foliage.  Dark, damp, silent.

 

Thor was not the first warrior Loki had come across these last few years when had begun to take to the forest on little excursions by himself.  He had come across many, in fact.  Pompous and full of self-worth; adding silly monikers to their names as if the suffixes themselves were living things.  Brave words to boost their meagre skill.

 

Loki usually watched them from his perch high up in a tree, quiet and unseen; but Thor had been different.  He had never come across one so at ease as to take a nap in the middle of the day, in the middle of nowhere!  His bag had been quite a discovery also.  No extra weaponry.  Only that delightful morsel of food.  _What was it called again?_   P-p… peach!

 

Everything about Thor had been different.  That unusual looking hammer had been the only thing that could have been used for protection.  His name was _just Thor_.  He spoke of his home with a dreamy expression and he exuded a casual happiness that Loki had found intoxicating.  He smiled and laughed easily.  Like nothing Loki had ever come across before.

 

It was late autumn, slowly moving towards the inevitable darkness of winter in only a few short weeks.  Already the fog was thick in the mornings, taking longer and longer to burn off with the sun as the days grew shorter and shorter still.  Pretty soon, the clouds would darken before releasing their heavy burden of snow and before long, the forest floor would be a white carpet; the ground hidden beneath the fluffy of powder.  Many of the animals would have settled in for hibernation too; only a few animals remained active during this time.  Bilgesnipe never rested and were generally the main source of meat and hide during the leaner months for many Jötnar.  Loki and Nál would hunt just before snowfall and strip the creature down to naught but his bones, using everything the animal had to offer; from the meat for food, its fur for clothing and blankets, right down through to its very marrow which was both high in nutrition and an ingredient in many potions for seiðrcraft.

 

Loki wondered if Thor had caught his own bilgesnipe yet.  He and his companions were confident, certainly, but confidence and brash bravery would help you not if you were suddenly faced with a fully grown bilgesnipe.  Luckily it wasn’t the time of year for pups, otherwise the warriors would most definitely be in danger were they ever to stumble upon a protective mother and her offspring.

 

He began to quicken his pace unconsciously until he found himself in a light jog, not exerting himself by any means, but not exactly taking his time either.  Little huffs of breath pushed out in front of him as he continued to run along, his eyes glancing up to catch the pale rays as they stretched out low on the horizon.

 

Yes, winter was definitely closing in.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He heard them before he saw them.  Bellowed yells muffled by distance alerted Loki to their presence over the next hill.  The trees began to thin slightly as he neared the crest; the trees here never having to have fought for the meagre sunlight like the trees down in the valley.  Up here, they were tall and majestic.  Loki scrambled up the side of one such tree, grasping the lowest branch and hoisting himself up into the canopy.  Using his strong arms, he pulled himself up and over as he made his way higher; looking down at the rapidly shrinking scene below him.

 

Another crack and Loki looked down to see Thor yell at his friend whilst throwing his large hammer at a very angry bilgesnipe.  It was growling and thrashing about, trying to hook him with its sharp spindly antlers.  Loki’s heart leapt into his throat and he gasped at how close Thor came to being clipped by the beast’s sharp claws.  Thor only seemed amused, however and shouted again to his friend, who suddenly came into view brandishing a sword.  He was tall with pale hair like Thor, but nowhere near his bulk.  He cackled jovially before running in the opposite direction of where Thor stood, shouting instructions to another warrior on the opposite side of the clearing.  “Sif, to your right!”

 

A female warrior turned and swung her sword, clipping the flank of the creature.  It let out an ear-piercing screech before turning to launch at her, its antlers lowered.  Another warrior joined the female and the blonde, this one large with a long bushy red beard.  He was brandishing some kind of mace in one hand, with a shorter sword in his other.

 

The three of them circled the creature, dodging its attempts to attack easy enough.  Thor and a fourth companion completed the circle before they coordinated their final assault.  Loki dangled his feet from the branch and let himself enjoy the scene below.  Loki continued to watch, seeing them easily overpower the bilgesnipe.  Loki judged it to be a young adult, no more than five seasons old or a small female.  Either way, it was no match for five Ásgarðian warriors.

 

While the fourth companion, a small pale man with black hair feigned an attack on the bilgesnipe’s left, the others leapt in and stabbed it on its right.  It fell to the soft ground, crying out in pain before Thor strode forward and crushed its skull with a mighty blow from his hammer.  He turned and said something to his friends, but his voice was too soft for Loki to hear anything save for the deep cadence of his voice.

 

They all leaned in closer to the slain creature; Loki guessed to check if it was truly dead.  The large warrior with the red reached down and took one of the beast’s claws, cutting it away and holding it up like some trophy.  Watching it made Loki’s stomach turn for reasons he did not know and had no desire to further investigate.

 

His eyes flicked back over to Thor and he scoffed as his own inner voice teasing him about his apparent inability to keep from searching for the other man.  He was crouched beside the head, now a broken and bloody mess.  Sif came over and crouched down also and Loki seethed at the sight of them so close together.  Sif smiled at something he had said before nodding and standing.  Thor remained crouched with his hammer resting on the spongy loam beside him.

 

Deciding then that it was time to hop down from his perch and make his presence known, Loki began pulling himself back up onto the branch.  He was halfway down the thick trunk of the tree when there was a sudden crash of splintering wood and a blood-curdling screech of another bilgesnipe entering the field.  Loki gasped and realised it was the mate of the slain beast.  A Mother protecting her pups was a terrifying sight, to be sure, but a full grown bilgesnipe protecting its mate was just as frightening.  The fact that the mate was dead was simply semantics.

 

Before Loki could reach the ground, he heard Thor calling his friends to the fight.  The sounds of grunting and swords connecting with the rock-hard antlers of the creature filled the air.  Loki pushed away from the tree in an arc, flipping himself in the air and coming to a silent landing on the forest floor, the carpet of fallen leaves cushioning his fall.  Immediately springing to his feet, he ran towards Thor with no thought but protect!  Save!  Thor wasn’t to be touched!

 

Thor was _his_!

 

Even running full pelt into the melee, Loki cringed at that last sudden thought.  Spending a few short hours with the man did not give Loki permission to claim ownership of a man, but nevertheless, the feeling was there.  He would deal with those emotions later.

 

Pulling his daggers from their belt, Loki flicked his wrist and sent one flying towards the beast as it reared up to swipe its razor-sharp claws at Thor.  Loki had already changed direction and was running to engage its other side when he heard the knife meet its target in the side of the bilgesnipe’s throat.  The dagger was deadly sharp, but nowhere near enough to fell this animal.

 

Loki reached the far side of the clearing and turned to find Thor in the mess.  He heard someone shout in alarm to his direct right and registered it had come from the female warrior.  Loki met her eyes for an instant before he returned his gaze to Thor battling the creature up close, swinging his hammer to keep the sharp teeth from tearing at his skin.

 

Loki suddenly threw his second dagger, watching it embed itself in the eye of the beast with a sharp thud.  Thor stumbled back when the animal shrieked in pain, thrashing its head from side to side, spraying blood everywhere.  Thor looked around quickly for locate the source of the attack until his gaze finally landed on Loki.

 

“Loki?” he exclaimed before running over to where he stood beside Sif.  She shifted her eyes from Loki to Thor and watched in shock as Thor wrapped his arm around Loki’s waist, pulling him away from the fighting.  He ran about twenty steps away before placing Loki back on the ground.  “What are you doing here?”

 

Loki scoffed, but secretly wanted to wrap his arms around Thor in return.  His heart was fluttering wildly about in his chest and the sensation was quite warm to his cheeks.  “Protecting you, you giant oaf!”  He stepped back out of Thor’s embrace and wore an expression of false disdain.

 

Thor smirked and flashed his gaze quickly over Loki’s shoulder to make sure his friends were in no immediate danger.  The creature was slowing down, but was still lively enough the challenge the four remaining warriors.

 

“You killed its mate,” Loki stated flatly.  Thor nodded and reached out to place a hand on Loki’s shoulder briefly.

 

“I must help,” he said before running to re-join his friends.

 

The creature continued to shriek loudly as the others stabbed and hacked at its armoured hide.  Loki shook his head in frustration and followed Thor.  He was quickly angered when he realised they knew nothing about the beast they were attempting to slay.  Bilgesnipe were large and simple, but evolution gave them ways to protect themselves; their throat and belly were their only vulnerable points.  The rest of their bodies were covered in thick plates of armoured skin covered in sharp spikes, with long thorny antlers sprouting from their head.  He didn’t know how they managed to kill the last one because it seemed the only thing Thor’s companions were managing to do by haphazardly stabbing at this beast with their swords was make it angrier.

 

Angry animals were volatile, and infinitely more dangerous.

 

It happened before Loki had a chance to warn Thor.  The beast deflected a parry by Thor’s blond friend, the sword hitting the bilgesnipe’s hide and spinning out of his hand.  Thor lunged forward with his hammer held out in front to protect his friend and within a heartbeat; the beast had him pinned to the ground and the sharp end of an antler pushing through his thigh with a bloody squelch.

 

Thor screamed in pain and reached up to grasp the beast’s skull, trying desperately to push it off his body, but the sheer weight and force of the animal made it nigh impossible.  He managed to take hold of the handle of Loki’s dagger, still lodged in the beast’s eye socket.  He twisted it this way and that, trying to force it to retreat, but it was too far gone in its blood-thirst to care.  It continued to push the antler further into Thor’s thigh and Thor continued to scream.

 

His friend’s immediately began to attempt to pull the animal’s attention from Thor.  Loki ran around them to stand directly in front of the bilgesnipe’s gaze, beside Thor’s head.  He raised his hands and began to whisper under his breath.  His blue hands began to glow with a green incandescence; brighter and brighter until with the flick of his wrist, he released the seiðr directly at the animal.  It immediately ceased thrashing about and they all watched as Loki continued to shape his seiðr to engulf the beast.  Eventually, the entire thing was surrounded by bright green light; Loki’s spell never faltering.

 

Thor watched the antler slowly leave his leg as the beast was pushed away by Loki’s barrier.  He looked up and saw Loki’s arms shaking as they were held out in front of him.  There was a sheen of sweat across his brow, yet he wavered not.

 

The companions rushed to Thor’s side and quickly created a makeshift tourniquet to staunch the flow of blood from his wound.  He paid them no mind, though; his eyes watching Loki still.

 

Once the Jötunn had the beast a far enough distance from Thor’s prone form, Loki let it down and bound it to the earth whilst he rested.  He needed to release it safely without further harm to the hunting party, but he was exhausted.  That much spell work without preparation exhausted his seiðr faster than if he had preparation and other elements to assist.

 

“Loki!” Thor called out as he made to sit up.

 

The Jötunn turned and looked back across the field, giving the golden man a small smile before lying down in the dirt.

 

As he lay there, he listened to Thor’s friends tending to his wound and the pitiful cries of the beast currently being pinned by Loki’s spell.

 

Just a few minutes more.

 

That’s when he felt it.  A sudden surge of nearby seiðr.  It was strong.  And unstable.

 

It was also very angry.

 

“You dare enter my wood?” came a growling voice from beyond the tree-line to their North.

 

Loki sat up quickly and called all his remaining seiðr to his core.  For the first time in a long time, Loki was afraid – the nearby seiðr was vast and rolling off whoever was wielding it in churning waves of fury and his was all but depleted.  He didn’t even have his daggers for protection.  He was completely exposed.

 

His eyes frantically searched the tree-line until they finally fell upon a Frost Giant entering the far side of the clearing.  It was tall, larger than any full-grown Jötunn Loki had seen, but unlike the Frost Giants from the books his mother had him read, this one was slender instead of stocky and almost female in appearance.

 

It growled, low in its belly before flashing a glare across the field to where Thor sat surrounded by his friends.  “You dare touch my little ones? “  Its gaze darkened further upon settling upon Thor.  “Ásgarðian,” it hissed.

 

Thor didn’t respond, but Loki watched his grip on his hammer tighten.  He knew how unstable the situation was.  Any warrior would.  His companions sat silently, clearly deferring their positions to Thor’s leadership in an attempt not to escalate things further.  Once they had secured the bandage around his thigh, they slowly helped him stand.  Loki’s chest ached with a sudden desperate need to go to him and shield him from the Jötunn, but he couldn’t move.

 

He continued to watch them, still unseen from his partially hidden place on the other side of the pinned creature.  Nál had often told Loki that they were both rare for they had long dark hair where other Jötnar were bald.  This one had hair too, falling just past its shoulders; however unlike the glossy black of Loki’s and Nál’s locks, this one’s hair was a dirty shade of grey.

 

“What is your name, tiny man?” the Jötunn said with a sneer.  Its horns were curved and black just like Loki’s, if not a little longer and rougher in appearance and were wrapped in spindly brambles.  Its eyes were blood red like all Jötnar, but they were narrowed and very dark.  It was wringing its hands as it came to stand beside the bilgesnipe, looking down at its writhing body.

 

Loki watched Thor’s top lips curl in response to the Giant’s jibe, but he chose not to bite.  Instead with a steady voice, he responded.

 

“Thor.”

 

Loki frantically tried to think of what he could do without drawing the giant’s attention.  His seiðr was all but depleted; his hold on the bilgesnipe weakening with every passing second.  With a shuddering silent breath, Loki’s shoulders dropped and his hands sought out the dirt around him as purchase.  The instant his fingers touched the soil however, Loki felt a pulse of seiðr surge into his body.  With wide eyes, he remembered one of the first things his mother had taught him about the very nature of seiðr; _it comes from all around us.  It is a living thing brought to life by the very realm herself._   Loki hesitated for a moment before plunging his fingers into the soft earth around him and began to draw the seiðr into himself.  It was hot and licked up Loki’s arms like wildfire until it reached his heart where it exploded in a bloom of power before seeping to every corner of his body.  Within moments, he could feel the strength returning to his legs.

 

“Well _Thor_ , pray the bards will one day sing of your adventures, because this needless murder has only resulted in your death,” the Jötunn growled, raising its arm and conjuring a blade of ice and bringing it down onto Thor before he had a chance to raise his hammer in defence.

 

“No!” Loki screamed the instant he saw the ice form and leapt to his feet.  Without a thought to his own safety, he ran forward with his arms held out in front of himself to form protective barrier around Thor and his companions.  The ice blade made contact with the shield and shattered; falling away from the giant’s arm in crystalline shards.

 

The Jötunn turned to find the source of the seiðr and looked at Loki with a shocked expression.

 

“ _Íviðjur_!”

 

The name seemed familiar to Loki’s ears, like he had heard it uttered by another, in another time.  “Leave now!” his voice was calm and steady, which surprised him for the turmoil raging inside was a turbulent maelstrom of emotion.  “Take your pet and flee this place.”  His shield remained a glowing barrier surrounding them in pure white light, pulsing slightly with every heartbeat that thumped in Loki’s chest.  It truly was a living thing.

 

Thor watched the tense standoff with somewhat cautious eyes.  He watched as the Frost Giant attempted – and failed – to make itself smaller in Loki’s presence.  Loki only came up the bottom of the giant’s ribcage as it was, but the Jötunn was dipping its head in supplication nonetheless.

 

Loki opened his palms outwards and felt the seiðr throb in reply.  The Frost Giant’s eyes were darting around Loki as he held his ground, biting back a gasp when Loki’s aura pulsed.  It seemed both in awe and afraid of the seiðr.  But Loki could also see the hunger and lust for power lurking there behind the calculating blood-red eyes.  “I said leave,” he whispered darkly, curling one hand into a fist to emphasise his conviction.

 

Loki watched and waited.  The Front Giant was clearly fighting itself, walking a fine line between want and fear.  It snarled and a moment later was dashing over to pick up the injured bilgesnipe.  Loki made sure he released his hold on the creature while he stood watching the giant scoop the animal into its arms.  It took two strides to reach the other end of the clearing before disappearing into the dense woods.

 

“Loki, what were you thinking?” groused Thor, pulling Loki into his arms, breaking both the tense atmosphere as well as causing the seiðr-barrier to dissolve.  The air was pushed from his lungs such was the power of Thor’s embrace.  He tried hard not to lean into the hard plains of Thor’s chest.  Tried not to let his heart flutter too wildly.

 

“I told you, I was protecting you, you giant oaf.”

 

A chuckle rumbled deep in Thor’s chest, the vibrations pleasant against Loki’s bare skin.  He pulled away to look up at Thor only to see pain flash across his face and a sharp hiss escape his lips.  That’s when Loki remembered.  “Your leg!”

 

“Thor, come over here and sit down, you great lumbering idiot,” sighed the female warrior.  She came over and, with only the barest of glances towards Loki, helped him guide Thor back over to where they were all standing in a small circle around a small area of cushioned forest floor.  “Thank you for helping,” she said finally.

 

Loki stood up from easing Thor down to the ground and smiled shyly at her.  “You’re welcome…?”

 

“Sif,” she provided.

 

Thor smacked his forehead and gestured to his other friends with a wide arc of his arms.  He was the only one sitting.  “How rude of me.  Friends, this is Loki.  Loki, these are my friends.”  He pointed to his blond friend.  “That’s Fandral.”  Fandral nodded his head and with a smile and a showy flick of his sword, walked away to patrol the area, pacing around the edge of the clearing to keep an eye out for any more surprises.  “This is Volstagg,” Thor continued, indicating his large friend with the long beard, kept together in two long braids.  He smiled jovially and placed a hand on Loki’s shoulder.

 

“I thank you for your gift.  The bilgesnipe was a worthy foe to be sure, but that Frost Giant was truly fearsome.”

 

Loki forced a small smile in reply and nodded before turning and catching the gaze of the small dark man standing beside Volstagg.  He wore a neutral expression, neither smiling nor frowning; Loki sensed that he was not completely impassive, but rather observant and quiet.  Loki felt the most nervous around him.  He decided he liked him well, though.

 

“And this is Hogun; Vanaheimr’s greatest warrior!”

 

Turning back to Thor, he frowned and crouched down beside where his leg was injured.  Thor held his hands out in a childish protective gesture that made Loki smirk _.  The bravest, most pig-headed warrior - scared of little old me_ he thought to himself with a giggle.  “I’m not going to hurt you, Thor.  I’m going to heal you.”

 

Thor seemed to relax and he returned his hands to his lap.  Loki reached out and loosened the knots on the tourniquet before hovering his hands over the gash, watching the cerulean blue of his skin become bright with pale green seiðr; a combination of his own seiðr mixed with the lovely magic he took from the realm.  The wound was quite nasty - jagged and torn in all directions.  The flow of blood had been staunched quite effectively, but it began to ooze out of him once more now that Loki had removed the constrictive bandage.

 

Loki closed his eyes and pulled his seiðr to his core once more, this time with a gentle calm.  When he let it slowly flow through his fingers, it was a caress, nothing more than a light touch against his skin.  He opened his eyes to watch the wound slowly close from the inside, knitting the torn tissue back together and reconnecting the severed artery and veins, and finally ending with his skin melding over, leaving nothing but a red shiny blotch.

 

He lowered his hands to touch the bare skin of Thor’s thigh, finding it quite warm to touch.

 

“No scar?” Thor whined without any true conviction.  Loki looked up and shook his head.

 

“I just healed you painlessly and returned your leg to its previous state and you’re upset because I didn’t leave you with an ugly scar to commemorate the occasion?”

 

Fandral laughed, re-joining them in the small circle.  “That sounds like Thor.”

 

Loki turned to see them all nodding and smiling.  He glanced back at Thor to see him shrug before laughing shyly.

 

Ásgarðians were truly a strange folk.

 

“We need to field dress this bilgesnipe,” Volstagg suddenly bellowed, unsheathing his sword and making his way over to where the slain beast lay.  “Hogun and Sif, help me roll it over.  It died in glorious battle and we need to honour it.”

 

“By cutting it up?” Sif asked.

 

“The battle was fierce and we almost died for this beast, not to mention that it actually _did_ die.  I intend to make his death worthy by not wasting any of what it has offered,” he replied as he and Hogun began to assess the creature.  She waited a moment before nodding in agreement and helping.

 

Loki frowned and turned back to Thor.  Volstagg had been the one to take the creature’s claw earlier and he had judged him harshly for it.  Now, the conviction sat heavy in his gut, curdling in the sour acid of his contrition.

 

Fandral suddenly appeared beside where Thor was sitting with an armful of wood.  “Are we camping here?  Because if so, I’m going to get a fire started.  I’m cold and tired and starving.”  He met Loki’s eyes briefly before returning his gaze to Thor to talk about where to places the tents and build the fire-pit.

 

Loki regarded Thor with thoughtful eyes as he conversed with Fandral. His voice was surprisingly soft and rumbled in his chest with a deep vibration that Loki felt all the way through to where his fingers lay resting against his thigh.  Only then did Loki realise his hand was still touching Thor’s bare thigh, the skin still warm beneath his palm.  He was torn; he wanted to both remove his hand in mortification, but he also never wanted to remove it for as long as he lived.  He sat in turmoil, not moving for fear Thor would realise Loki presumed to continue touching him and push his hand away.

 

So with a reluctance that surprised him, Loki went to move his hand away, only to have Thor’s cover his gently and give a reassuring squeeze, his conversation with Fandral continuing as if nothing was amiss.  Like Loki’s hand belonged there.

 

Loki squeezed back.

 

 

 


	4. The Realm Eternal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Magic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CoCoKrispies/), [Sam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MalfoyLover_1/pseuds/MalfoyLover_1), [Mona](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyscholar/pseuds/sexualthorientation) and [radiatorfromspace](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RadiatorfromSpace/pseuds/RadiatorfromSpace%22) for their beta xx

 

 

Long after the sun had set, they were all still sitting around the fire, telling tales, laughing about their feats and failures in kind.  Loki didn’t drink the mead or wine they had offered him, but he did eat some of the bilgesnipe meat they had cooked over the coals.  His mother cooked theirs in a similar fashion, only Nál used slabs of heated basalt as opposed to the glowing carbon stones.  The result was much the same, though; crispy-skinned tender strips of meat that fell away from the bone in succulent morsels.

 

The bilgesnipe had long since had its pelt removed and set to cure and the better cuts of meat had been dressed and buried in snow from the nearby permafrost at the base of the mountain.  The choicest cuts were currently being devoured by the group and Loki felt oddly comfortable; cautious, but comfortable.  Every now and then, he used his seiðr to quietly scan the area for any threats.  Apart from a few small rodents scurrying nearby, they were alone.  He allowed himself a quiet sigh.

 

He was leaning back, staring up at the pale sky.  It was never truly dark in Jötunheimr leading up to winter.  However, once winter set in, you would be lucky to have 3 hours of sunlight a day; and even then, the light was pale and weak.  The sun would sit low on the horizon for those few precious hours, lighting the realm, but not gracing her with its warmth.

 

Right now, the sky was a vast swirl of deep colour; the last vestiges of light streaking across in one last hurrah before dipping away behind the mountains.  Already the canvas above them was dotted with the stars of this realm and her twin moons hung high.

 

A lull in the conversation had Loki’s head snapping back to the group, only then realising they had been speaking to him.  “I’m sorry, what?”

 

Thor chuckled softly and squeezed his hand.  Even after they had finished building the camp and setting the food into the fire to cook, Thor had been no more than a whisper from his side, forever reaching out and leaving small touches against his skin.  Brushing his hair back from his face, or running a gentle finger down his forearm while holding his gaze; but never far and always smiling.

 

“We were asking what it was like here in winter,” Volstagg provided.

 

“Oh.”  He smiled and busied himself with shifting his long legs so they were folded beneath him.  “It is bitterly cold.  The storms are ferocious, but it’s the never-ending sheet of ice and snow that gets you.”  He patted his chest.  “We’re more equipped to handle the cold than your tiny pink bodies, but even then, it’s a constant struggle to stay warm.”

 

Volstagg wrapped one of his larger pelts tightly around his body.  “So, colder than this?” he asked.

 

Loki laughed softly before stopping and shyly dipping his head.  He had heard that Ásgarðians were quick to temper; so laughing at them might not the best course of action.  Still, Loki couldn’t help but smirk just a little when he replied.  “Yes, much colder than this.”  He spread his hands out in an arc to indicate the forest around them.  “During winter you wouldn’t see the forest for the snow.”

 

“The trees.  Do they lose their leaves?” Sif suddenly asked from where she sat beside Hogun cleaning and sharpening her swords.  Hogun was also polishing his blades.  The steady _shick! shick! shick!_ of the whet stone was oddly comforting.

 

“No.  Most of The Wyld is made of spruce and pine and they’re evergreen, so they don’t drop their leaves.  However, there is a lovely grove of rowan further south that do.  Mother used to take me on trips down to the most Southern tip of the forest so we could see the leaves turn and fall.  The browns and red are so vibrant against the muted green and greys of the rest of the region.  I was forever climbing the largest one and clinging to the outermost branches as a game to see if my mother could catch me.  He always did.”

 

Sif smiled at him before dropping her eyes and returning to sharpening her blade; the sweet smile remaining on her lips.

 

Fandral suddenly crouched forward to rearrange the logs in the small fire they had going.  The flames hissed and licked up the sides of the fresh logs, shooting clouds of tiny glowing embers into the air where they floated away on the faint breeze that teased their ruddy cheeks.  Loki followed their path with an almost child-like fascination before dropping his eyes back to the fire where he caught Fandral’s eyes through the flames and found himself disconcerted when Fandral turned away, his eyes slightly narrowed.

 

Loki felt nervous for the first time since healing Thor.

 

“I t-think it’s time I left you for the evening,” he said quietly, making a move to stand.  Thor suddenly turned to him and squeezed his hand.

 

“Loki, you must stay with us,” he said vehemently.  Loki smiled and placed his other hand over Thor’s, effectively trapping his warmth between his cool fingers.

 

“Alas, I cannot.  I made a promise to my Dam.”  He got to his feet, Thor following reluctantly; still not releasing his hand.  Loki made a point to stare at their clasped fingers until Thor blushed and let his hand fall away.  Loki then turned to the others as they each got to their feet and came to embrace him in farewell.  Sif let a lock of his hair slide through her fingers as she stepped back, watching as it fell in glossy black waves.  Volstagg thumped him on the back and chortled when he coughed.

 

“Still one of the mightiest battles I have witnessed.”

 

Hogun shook his hand and nodded his head.  “I thank you for your aid, today.  It was a truly masterful use of seiðr.”  Loki smiled shyly and nodded.

 

Finally, Fandral stepped forward and held out his hand.  Loki took it and shook it three times before Fandral withdrew.  “Thank you.”  Was all he uttered whilst his eyes darted around Loki’s face before he turned away.

 

Loki had no time to ponder however, for Thor was taking his hand once more.  “Here, I’ll walk with you part of the way.”

 

Loki laughed as they made their way through the trees, away from the firelight.  “This from the man who got lost in this very forest not 24 hours ago?”

 

Thor chuckled and pulled Loki’s closer hand until they were walking side-by-side with their arms pressed against one another.  “I promise I won’t get lost this time,” he whispered against the shell of Loki’s ear.  “But just so you know, if I do, it’ll be you I try to find and not my campsite.”

 

The dark shadows cast by the overhead trees were quite effective in hiding the purple blush that bleed across Loki’s cheeks.

 

They walked as a casual pace for a couple of minutes before Thor slowed to a stop beneath a large spruce with heavy branches that almost brushed their shoulders.  Loki had taken a step further than Thor and felt the tug of his outstretched arm, turning back with a question.  “Thor?”

 

“Stay with me,” he whispered and watched as Loki stepped forward into the circle of his arms; their hands still the only part of them touching.

 

“I cannot,” Loki whispered back with a sad lilt to his voice.  “If I stay, then I’m breaking a promise to my mother.”

 

Even the argument sounded weak to Loki’s ears.

 

“But I feel a connection between us.  Surely you feel it too, Loki.”

 

Loki smiled sadly as he stared down at where their fingers were laced together.  Thor sounded like a child, naïve to the realm and their roles within her a mere game; but oh how he wanted to play along.  And he wanted to deny it, of course.  He didn’t want to seem so easy to sway, yet he could no more deny his feelings for Thor than to dispute his own beating heart.  Instead he brought Thor’s hand up to his face and held them against his cheek.

 

“I feel it,” he said softly.  “I’ve never felt this way before.”

 

“Then stay.  Stay with me.”

 

Loki scoffed and turned away for a moment, letting Thor’s hand drop away before turning back with his red eyes awash with emotion.  “And where might that be?  In Ásgarðr?  You know that to be impossible, Thor.  You hardly know me.  I am Jötunn.  I could never leave my mother.  Not to mention your parents.  I’m sure they’d have something to say about it,” Loki paused to bring a hand to his mouth.  “Oh my, are they still alive?  See, I don’t even know about your life in Ásgarðr.  What good would I make as a companion?  You probably already have a wife.  A good hunter’s wife who knows her place.  I would challenge you to debates about every little thing you do, see or say.  Make you read books, only so I could argue about them with you at length.”  He continued to ramble; more so to deny his heart the opportunity to want.  To covet what he knew he could never have.  “And I’m incredibly selfish.  I wouldn’t want to share you with anyone.  I would want to keep all for myself; locked away for my eyes only.”  Tears blurred his vision and he wiped his eyes in frustration.  “You see, this is impossible.  What good is want if this is to be our lot in life, Thor?”  His voice dropped to a whisper.  “I’m not strong.”

 

“Oh Loki,” Thor sighed, reaching up to once again cup Loki’s face.  “No, I have no wife.  And my parents would be supportive of my choice, for who can speak against what’s in my heart.”  He dropped his eyes to Loki’s bottom lip, watching intently as it was sucked in between his teeth.  “And you are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.  What you did today…”

 

“Is this too soon?” Loki asked on a whisper.

 

Thor began to run his thumb back and forth along Loki’s lower lip, teasing it away from the teeth that nibbled at it.  His eyes darting from them to Loki’s eyes; the deepest of reds and full of hope.  “Maybe, but I know what I feel.”

 

Loki seemed to ponder those words for a split second before realising he knew it to be true of himself also.  He nodded then and leant forward to rest his forehead against Thor’s.  Gentle hands ran up and down his back, slowing down and coming to rest on his hips where his cool skin met the soft fur of the loincloth.

 

Loki’s hands were clutched around the lapels of Thor’s vest, holding himself fast against the plains of Thor chest.  His mind was in turmoil for he had truly never felt these emotions before.  It was a little overwhelming and Loki closed his eyes in an attempt to quell the fluttering of his cagey heart.  He could hear and feel Thor’s breath against his cheek and it made him smile.

 

“I would give you my heart if you so wish to keep it.”

 

Loki opened his eyes and pulled his face back to look at Thor.  With the smallest of smiles, he nodded.  “I would keep it always.”  He slowly closed the distance between them, softly pressing his lips against Thor’s.  It was a lovely, chaste kiss that ended almost as soon as it had begun.  Thor was grinning when Loki took a step back and Loki smiled back before Thor slid a warm hand around to gently take hold of the nape of his neck and drag him back for another.

 

This kiss was not at all chaste, and lasted a lot longer.  Thor fingers slid along his jawline, coaxing a soft sigh from Loki’s throat even as his other hand held his hips flush against him.

 

Loki opened his mouth and let Thor’s tongue slide gently against his own.  He tasted like rain.  He pushed his fingers into Thor’s hair and pulled himself closer, allowing the kiss to become deeper.  His heart was thrashing a heavy tattoo against his ribs now, but he could also feel Thor’s heart; pounding right alongside.  A steady rhythm; beating in tandem.

 

The quiet smacking of lips and shared gasps were the only sounds made as they kissed desperately under the cover of the tree and her dappled darkness.  They kissed with passion and the naïve beginnings of lust until at last they pulled away; gasping for air with lips swollen from their ministrations.  Thor smiled and ran a gentle thumb along Loki’s bottom lip, the fragile skin there most definitely forming a slight bruise.

 

Thor fell back against the tree, pulling Loki along with him.  They stood leaning there for an infinite amount of time, Thor’s arms curled possessively around Loki’s shoulders and Loki’s head resting against Thor’s chest.

 

“I really do have to leave soon,” Loki’s voice rang softly through their comfortable silence.

 

“I know, but let’s just stay here a while longer.”

 

Loki turned in his embrace and wrapped his arms around Thor’s middle.  “Okay.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The fire was low when Thor returned to the camp after seeing Loki off.  His friends had long since retired to their respective tents, but Thor felt too buzzed to sleep, so he chose to sit back down in his original spot.  He picked up a long branch and prodded the fire and added a few logs to keep it going.  He thought about Loki and smiled at no one, alone in the night to his thoughts.

 

After peppering Loki’s face with many more kisses, Thor had finally relinquished his hold and watched Loki slowly walk away, a smile teasing the corners of his lips as he looked back at Thor over his shoulder.  During those precious few moments they had had to themselves, they had promised to meet up soon.  Thor was going to return in a month’s time and meet at the grove of rowan trees Loki had spoken about earlier that evening.

 

Thor knew he would only get a few days to do this because his father was expecting him to spend more and more time each day with him in talks with his council of advisors.  He was to be king one day of course, so he was expected to learn all there was to learn about the realm before Óðinn passed the torch.  Thor was both excited and scared.  He had known all his life, naturally.  He was the only son to Óðinn and Frigga; for as long as he could remember, he had been groomed for regency.

 

But he would make time for this.  He would always make time for Loki.  Even if his life on Ásgarðr got in the way, he would find a way.

 

A few minutes later, the fire resurged, warming him nicely where he sat.  He poured himself some mead from the rest of the barrel they had brought with them, leaning back against a log behind him and letting the fire warm his feet.  He was happy and the growing warmth in his chest was welcomed with open arms.  Reaching up, his fingered the patch of shorn hair where one of his braids had been cut away.

 

 

Loki had asked for something from him; a token, something personal.  Thor had worn no jewellery for the hunt and felt guilty for having nothing to gift Loki.  The Jötunn had taken hold of the long, fine braids and smiled, using seiðr to gently cut it away before placing it inside a small pouch he had tied to his hip, right next to where one of his daggers sat, gleaming in the pale light of the moon.  In turn, he had reached back into the pouch, pulling out a round stone, smooth and pale in colour and no bigger than Thor’s thumbnail.  He had watched in awe as Loki lifted it his lips to press a spell to its surface, his incantation more breath than whisper.  The stone had then begun to light up even as Loki’s voice continued, his words a language Thor had not heard before.  The darkness of the forest became darker still as the stone shone brighter, like they were battling for dominance.  Thor looked around them, but saw only the trees and their shadows.  The raised markings across the back of Loki’s hand glowed as he spoke, the cadence of his voice a lovely poem as Thor listened.  Then he had watched Loki take a section of his own inky hair and after twisting it into a fine braid, tied and cut it away, adding it to his fist with the stone. After whispering another small spell, he held out his hand and uncurled his fingers to reveal he had fashioned the stone into a pendant, reaching up and braiding it into Thor’s hair just behind his right ear with a small smile.

 

“This is your twin-stone.  I have its brother with me here,” Loki had whispered, opening his hand to show Thor another small stone as it sat in the cool pillow of his palm, “they are linked and will always return to one another.”  Thor had watched him reach up and set his stone into the golden thread of his headpiece.  “If you ever need to find me, touch the stone and say ‘ _sjel til sjel’_.  I will feel you reaching out and I will answer.”

 

 

Thor had beamed, clutching the length of hair in his fist, but still felt bad for not having something of more value to give.  Loki had silenced him with another kiss that had successfully distracted him from his thoughts before they had parted ways.  However, now as Thor sat in front of the fire, his fingers running along the silky line of Loki’s braid, he thought of the pendant that lay on his dresser back in Ásgarðr.  It was intricate and heavy, with a brilliant pale emerald set in its centre.  The runes around the edges were in a language Thor had yet to learn, but it was still a lovely thing to behold.  The pendant had been a gift from the Queen of another realm on his name day two years ago.  When his mother held it out for him to take, she said it spoke of his seiðr destiny and that it was forged from the same uru metal as Mjölnir herself; that the pendant itself was of his heart.

 

What gift more worthy of Loki than one of his own heart?  Even though Loki had taken his braid with the assurance of its worth, Thor had every intention of gifting him with the pendant when they met up again in a month.

 

A short time later, Thor finally felt the day take its toll on his body and after ensuring the fire was tended to, he crawled into his tent and fell asleep within minutes; the braid of Loki’s hair still wrapped around his right hand possessively.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The brightness of Ásgarðr blinded Thor and his companions as soon as they alighted from their journey through the Bifröst.  Heimdallr nodded politely at them as they dismounted and checked their packs.  His golden gaze then fell upon Thor and he raised an eyebrow in question.  “I trust your hunt went well, my Prince?”

 

Thor met his eyes, but dropped them a second later when it hit him that Heimdallr would have seen everything that had happened.  Would he tell his parents before Thor had a chance to tell them about Loki?  His heart began to race and he forced his eyes back up.  “Yes thank you, Heimdallr.  The hunt went quite well.  I have many things to tell my parents when I dine with them this evening,” he said with a surprisingly steady voice and a raised eyebrow of his own.

 

Heimdallr smirked at the blatant challenge, but did not break eye contact.  “I’m sure you do.”

 

Thor remounted his horse and followed Sif and the others out onto the rainbow bridge before urging their horses into a gallop, racing towards the glittering golden palace at the end.

 

Sif won the race, with Thor, Fandral, Hogun and finally Volstagg following behind.  Grooms came rushing over and led the horses away after they dismounted, Thor passing on instructions to have the meat delivered to the kitchens for that evening’s feast and the pelt sent to the Tanner to be cured.  After leaving the grooms to do their jobs, Thor joined the others as they made their way up the front steps and into the cooler air of the main foyer of the palace.

 

“Well, I’m for a bath and a rest before tonight.  I’ll see you all later,” Fandral began, picking up his pack and waving them off.  Hogun nodded his agreement and after reshouldering his pack, also head off towards his room.  Volstagg groaned as he bent down to pick up his pack; Thor and Sif laughing as he straightened up, clutching at his back.  “I’m getting too old for this.”

 

“You always say that, and yet you’re always the first to suggest another trip,” Sif said, slapping her friend on the back with great thumps using the heel of her hand.

 

Volstagg shook his head and grinned.  “I said I was getting older, not wiser.”

 

The three friends began walking along the halls towards the barracks near the bathhouse.  Sif was the only female warrior in Ásgarðr’s ranks and at first had been placed in her own hall with her own separate bath until she decided to ignore the rules to live and work and bathe alongside her fellow soldiers.  The first time she strutted into the bath house wearing nigh but a small towel around her waist, Thor stared down his comrades in a silent challenge; you make one comment and you answer to me, the glare screaming volumes.

 

However, no one batted an eye.  Sure, there were a few sidelong glances and hooded eyes, but after the first couple of months of being soundly beaten by Sif in the training arena, she was no longer seen as just a beautiful woman, she was a beautiful warrior who could kill them within seconds if they were to do something as silly as insult her or objectify her.

 

Upon reaching the door to her room, she pushed open the door and dumped her pack just inside.  “Fandral has the right idea.  I’m going to head to the bathhouse and get washed up before a well-earned rest.  See you at the feast tonight.”

 

Thor and Volstagg waved her off as she made her way to the end of the corridor and turned right.  Volstagg shrugged and began to walk away slowly.  “I’m going to go check on my wife and girls.  I’ll meet you in the feasting hall later.  Look for me; I’ll be the one beating everyone in the drinking games.”  He grinned back at Thor wickedly before disappearing around the corner towards the family quarters.

 

Volstagg was the only one of his friends who was married and as such, lived in a wing of the barracks with larger accommodation for soldiers with families.  His wife worked in the kitchens.  Helga was a good woman who had borne him two daughters with flaming red hair; her own hair the colour of pale wheat, twisted up in coils of braid.  She was a small woman with an easy smile and always had fresh bread to serve when Thor visited for she loved to cook, which was a godsend because Volstagg liked to eat.  She was made of sterner stuff and had a wonderful sense of humour.  Thor adored her and the girls and was always bringing them back little trinkets from trips that took their father away from time to time.

 

Thor sighed and turned away from the corridor to the barracks and made his way towards his own hall.

 

After entering his suite, Thor dropped his pack and strode into the washroom that adjoined his bedroom.  The soldier’s quarters only had a public bath and even though it was larger than any bathhouse in Ásgarðr; as well as being well-attended and quite luxurious as far as soldier’s standards were concerned, Thor wanted the privacy his personal bathroom afforded him.  Normally, he wouldn’t think twice about joining his friends in the public baths; but just for today, he wished to be alone.

 

His private bathroom was tiled in pale gold mosaic with red accents, with a large round bathing pool set into the stone floor in the centre of the room.  The pool was adorned with beautifully arranged mosaic tiles and golden fixtures that shone in the mid-morning light as it streamed in from a high window in the far corner.  Thor opened the taps and let the water gush through, stripping down to naught but his skin while he waited for the pool to fill.  He picked up several small bottles of oil, unstoppering them to smell each until he found one he liked.  _Peach_.  With a smirk, he poured a generous amount into the rapidly filling pool, thinking how much Loki would love this right now.  When it was filled, he closed off the taps before sinking into the hot water gratefully.

 

As the heat seeped through his limbs and bleed out the ache, his eyes slid shut and his mind eased him into a gentle nap.

 

He dreamt of Loki.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Thor was knotting the straps of his leather vest when there was a gentle knock.  He looked down at the small girl after opening the door and she smiled with a quick curtsey.  “The Queen wishes for you to join her for afternoon tea, sir.”  Her voice was soft and her smile lovely.

 

He nodded and after pulling on a pair of soft brown leather boots over his breeches, followed the girl to his mother’s suite of rooms.  They found her sitting at her loom in a dress of gold and blue, flicking the shuttle back and forth with the ease of someone who had worked the machine all her life.  Upon seeing the page enter with Thor close behind, she put the loom aside and rose to greet her son.

 

“Darling.”

 

Thor grinned and stepped into her embrace, allowing himself to close his eyes and inhale the sweet flowery scent of her long hair as it spilled down her back in golden waves.  Thor would always cherish his mother’s hugs; even when he grew old and weary, if his mother was there and her arms were around him, all would be well.

 

Looking over her shoulder, Thor tried to get a good look at the tapestry she had begun, but she had only completed a few inches of the bottom; a swirl of reds and blue.  “What will it be?” he ventured softly.  Frigga tutted non-committedly and hugged him tighter.

 

“No matter; these are but early days, my sweet.  Come, come, come and have some tea.  How was the hunt?” she asked after they pulled apart and led him over to the ornate dining table, where an intricately carved teapot sat steaming next to an array of different sweets and cakes.  He sat and watched her pour, while reaching out and taking a small lemon tart; popping it into his mouth and letting the curd melt over his tongue.  Lemon tarts were always his favourite.

 

“It was interesting,” he offered slowly.  She pushed a cup towards him and sat down opposite; her brow arched in question.  He chuckled and took another tart.  “We slayed a bilgesnipe, but we did not foresee its mate arriving to avenge its death.”

 

Frigga’s face contorted from pain to concern to sadness all within a few seconds.  At last she placed her teacup down with a frown.  “What happened?”

 

“I was injured in the attack, but…”  And it was there that Thor’s voice stuck in his throat.  He had never kept anything from his mother before and he was loathe to start now, but there was something in his heart that wanted to keep Loki for himself; if only for a little while longer.  He knew his mother would support him; surely?  She has always been supportive of Thor’s choices, and if not has spoken with him to understand.  His affection for Loki would not be swayed by his want of her blessing, but even so, he craved it at all times.

 

Just this once, he was going to stay his lips and keep Loki his alone.

 

Looking over at her now, he noticed she was waiting for him to continue his story.  “…but we were able to overcome the creature and scare it off.”

 

Frigga sighed and sat back in her chair, taking another sip of her tea with a smile.  “You don’t look injured,” she persisted.

 

“It wasn’t serious,” he said in a non-committal sort of way, leaning forward in his chair to reach for another pastry.  If he wasn’t careful, he would fill up on these delicious pastries and leave no room for the feast that night.  “How’s Father?”

 

Frigga crossed her leg as she continued to sip at her tea.  “Busy.  You know how anxious _Vetrnætr_ preparations make him.  Every year, it’s the same thing.”  She smirked and gazed up at the ceiling.  “Honestly, Thor.  I hope when you take the throne, you’ll at least be smart enough to plan your festivals well in advance and not leave it to the last minute like your father.  I offered to help months ago, but he said he had it under control.”

 

Then she laughed and it was one of the loveliest sounds he had the privilege of hearing.  He always admired his mother’s laugh, for she gave them freely and without restraint.  His early years were filled with many happy memories, but none more than chasing his mother through her gardens, or being chased and hiding from her feigned stalking.  “Come out, come out, wherever you are, little beasty.  Mumma’s here to gobble you up.”  He would squeal and run and tumble and she would catch him around his middle; sweeping him up into her arms with a hoot of triumph.

 

He grinned at her and sat back, sipping his tea once more.  “I’ll go visit him before the feast and see if there’s anything I can do to help.”

 

With a nod, she poured another cup of the fragrant tea.

 

Thor’s eyes darted over the sweets in front of him and inevitably thought of Loki and his reaction to the peach.  _How would he react to eating any of these delicious cakes?_ He wondered.He just knew the little Jötunn was a sweet tooth and began planning what treats to smuggle out to him next month.  Would he ask Helga to bake a selection or would he just pilfer what was available on the day?  Volstagg’s wife loved to bake and her husband and Thor had always been willing guinea pigs.

 

Frigga sat and regarded Thor silently, not speaking or expecting Thor to fill the silence; but rather she let her mind step back and let her seiðr gently flow from her to dance around her son’s form.  He was completely oblivious to it and continued to happily eat the pastries laid out in front of him; humming his lips around the ones he really liked.  There was something different about him, but she couldn’t quite place his heart.  Her eyes glanced over at the tapestry she had begun at only an hour after midnight the previous night.

 

She had been asleep beside Óðinn when she had felt the pull.  At first, she hadn’t known what it was, but when her feet had brought her out to her sitting room where her loom had sat silent for many seasons, she recognised the Norns at work.  Suddenly and without even realising, she had begun to pick up skeins of wool from the basket beside the loom, threading the ends onto the warp bar and winding it around.  Before long, she had been pulling the shuttle back and forth, sending a graceful thanks to the sisters and continuing to work through the night.

 

Óðinn had risen just before dawn, making his way out of their room to see her at the loom.  This hadn’t been the first time he had found his wife answering the call of her gift and he certainly knew it wouldn’t be the last.  He had simply picked up Gungnir, pressed a kiss to her temple and left her for his study.

 

But the vision was still without form, a mere pattern of cerulean and deep red.  She glanced back at her son and saw him staring off out the wide windows that looked out over the gardens of Fensalir as they lay awash with colour.  It was nearing on winter and the flowers were rebelling against the shorter days.  Knowing they would soon be gone; asleep until spring returned once more, Frigga found herself spending more and more time taking walks through the seemingly endless rows of flowers.  She had tended to them for as long as she could remember and it had become her place of solitude.

 

“What distracts my son so?” she sighed, reaching out to brush his hair from his pensive face.

 

Thor smirked wryly at her and made to stand.  “What indeed.  You’re going to fatten me so much I’ll not fit into my armour,” he chuckled, pulling his mother into an embrace.  “No more pastries.”

 

She laughed and patted his cheek, letting him walk away towards her doors.  “I’ll go see father now.  Will you be attending the feast?”

 

“Of course.  I’ll see you anon.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Thor made his way from his Mother’s rooms down to Valaskjálf, knowing that’s exactly where his Father would be.  Although council meetings were held earlier in the week, the fact that _Vetrnætr_ was fast approaching meant that Óðinn would be with his advisors every day until the festival.

 

The festival would be attended by both the members of the high court as well as the common people.  For this reason, Thor loved it.  It was less restrictive than _Thrimilci_ and it gave chance to making friends with everyone.  It was also a chance for dignitaries from other realms to get together and socialise outside of their usual official functions; which as Frigga had pointed out to Óðinn more than once how utterly tedious they could be.

 

Óðinn was bent over some scrolls at the end of the room’s overwhelmingly long table.  Six of his closest advisors were sitting nearby, equally engrossed in their own scrolls.  Every now and then one would mumble something and the others would mumble back.  Óðinn looked up when Thor reached him and gave him a strained smile.  “My son, what brings you here?”

 

Thor smirked and Óðinn rolled his eyes mirthfully.  “Your Mother, of course.”

 

Thor nodded and glanced down at the scroll his father was reading.  “The accommodation arrangements for the Vanir?  Really father, just put Uncle Freyr and Aunty Freyja in the suite next to mine.  They’re only going to sneak to one another’s room anyway.  Might as well put the second room to good use.”

 

The advisors all began to scoff and huff their tiresome complaints about propriety, but were silenced when Óðinn suddenly burst out laughing.  Thor chuckled and took a seat, reaching out and making the change on the scroll using a nearby pot of ink and pen.  Óðinn's laughter faded and he glared at his advisors.  “Honesty!  What a breath of fresh air.”

 

“But my Lord, what will people say?”

 

Óðinn poured himself a horn of ale and sat back.  “Probably what they’ve been saying in secret for centuries now.”

 

After a few more huffed complaints under their breath, everyone seems to return to their respective scrolls, leaving Óðinn and Thor to continue.  “What can I do to help?  Mother said you’ve been rather stressed about the whole thing.  I’m here, make use of me.”

 

Óðinn rubbed the back of his neck and genuinely pondered the request.  “Well, there is one thing…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Thor grinned as he strode down the steps leading out of the palace towards the orchards.  Óðinn Allfather, King of Ásgarðr was scared to ask Iðunn for some apples for the festival.  It was laughable and Thor said he was happy to oblige.  He nodded to some of his Mother’s handmaidens as he passed by the gated entrance to Frigga’s ever lovely garden and continued on until he reached the high wall to the enclosed Orchard.  He would never admit it, but he too was petrified of the tiny blonde Goddess.  She guarded her prized trees well and folly to anyone who dared enter the orchard without her express permission.  Being the King, or in this case the Prince of the realm eternal gave them no leave or special privileges.

 

After knocking on the sealed gate, he waited only a moment before the gate swung inwards and he side stepped inside before the gate reclosed.

 

Instantly the warmth and sweet smell of apples painted itself along Thor limbs, leaving him with unusually flushed cheeks and heavy limbs.

 

“What brings you to my orchard, Son of Óðinn?”

 

He turned to see Iðunn emerge from behind one of the largest apple trees he had ever seen; golden and heavy with fruit.  Her long pale hair was braided intricately upon her head and she wore a simple dress of creamy silk.  She was barefoot and seemed to dance across the rich loam beneath her toes.  Yet, for all her delicate features and feather-like movements, Thor knew better.  She was extremely fast and her aim was always true.

 

Thor bowed low.  “My father, Óðinn Allfather bids you greetings and wishes to ask for apples for this years’ _Vetrnætr_.”

 

She cocked her head to the side and grinned.  “Why does he not come himself, I wonder?”

 

Óðinn had been burnt before.  In fact, most of the men of Ásgarðr had at one point or another.  They all tried to outrun the tiny Goddess, but they were never successful and always came away with sore heads and sore egos.

 

“He had pressing matters related to the festival, but he does send his regrets.”

 

Her grin became mischievous before she hummed and turned to return to the large tree.  She ran her hands along the trunk and looked above to the branches.  “Tell the Allfather he shall have his apples for the festival.”

 

Thor bowed again and began walking towards the gate when Iðunn’s voice called him back.  “And what of you, Thor?  What have you to ask of me?”

 

His cheeks instantly coloured and he found he couldn’t meet her eyes, for she had seen right through him.  Indeed, he had immediately thought of Loki and of how lovely an apple would be for him.  Thor knew he enjoyed the peach; so surely an apple from Iðunn’s garden would be just as tempting, if not more for truly no fruit tasted as sweet as the Goddess’ bounty.

 

“I wish to gift an apple to a friend,” he murmured.

 

When he did look up, he found she had pulled herself up into the lower boughs of the great apple tree before him, her bare feet swinging just as Loki’s had done only days ago.  She smiled at Thor with sparkling eyes.  “When do you need your gift?”

 

“A month from now.”

 

“Then shall it be.”  She nodded and climbed higher into the tree, disappearing from sight.

 

Thor smiled the whole way back to his room.

 

 

 


	5. Contemplation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beautiful boo, [Mona](http://%20http:/www./archiveofourown.org/users/sexyscholar/pseuds/sexualthorientation) for her wonderful support and beta xxx

 

 

The morning after he had left Thor there in the forest, Loki woke to find his lips still tingling at the memory of Thor’s pressed against them; the lush plumpness, slightly chapped from the icy wind.  He remembered the gentle squeeze of Thor’s fingers on his hip, anchoring him securely against the firmness of his body.  Running his fingers down the length of his arms, his raised heritage marks acted as a map for Loki to follow the same path Thor’s had travelled the previous night.  His hands had been warm and calloused, but his touch had been gentle.

 

They had stood there together in the dark, whispering promises no more than breathy murmurs.  With a sigh, Loki rolled over and bit his thumb to stifle the delirious grinning he couldn’t control.

 

_Four weeks._

 

With his dam away, Loki was alone with his thoughts.  Stretching out on the soft furs lining his bed, he felt quite languid.  There was nothing forcing his hand, no chore requiring his immediate attention and he was quite happy to while away his morning staring at the ceiling and daydreaming about other worlds and other lives.  Exciting lives.  Lives far, far away.

 

He was an hour or so into doing just that when the pressing need to eat made itself known.  Quite loudly too, for the acoustic quality of the small round cave only served as an amplifier to his stomach’s grumblings.  He got up and made himself a small breakfast, eating fast and heading back over to his bed as soon as he had finished washing his plate.  If Nál had been home, Loki would have left for the day by now, his feet carrying him swiftly into the forest; but not today.

 

He chose a couple of books from the shelf and brought them over to his little nest, setting them down beside the tome his Mother had asked him to read before sinking back amongst the furs.  He huffed a happy little sigh and cracked open the spine of the first book.

 

Days passed like this; reading and daydreaming.  He practiced his seiðr daily and felt exhilarated when by the end of the fourth day, he found he could renew his seiðr quicker than before.  It was the most exhilarating rush as it folded back in on itself whilst in motion.  Loki’s face broke out in the loveliest smile, but it was wasted on the empty cave and all at once, the green mist faltered and the seiðr evaporated in a cloud of jade around him.  He fell back against his bed with his hands behind his head.  He was bored.  And lonely.

 

He wondered what Thor was doing.

 

Thinking about the Æsir had become one of Loki’s favourite pastimes.  Lying on his bed late at night, with nothing but the sound of the howling wind outside to keep him company, he began to imagine that Thor was there with him, curled up behind him with a possessive arm wrapped tightly around his middle.  The thought was intoxicating and gave Loki a warm feeling low in his gut, and as with each time he thought about Thor holding him close in such a manner, that warmth spread through to his limbs, speeding up his heart rate and teasing a sheen of sweat across his brow.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Loki woke to the sound of running water.  He lay perfectly still while he assessed the situation, not sure if it were a threat (and if said threat was in his immediate vicinity right then).  His first thought was a panicked ‘ _did the seiðr slip on the cave entrance?’ ‘were they able to see through the enchantment?’_  He quickly grabbed his dagger from beneath his pillow and craned his neck to survey the room, ready to spring to his feet if needed.  When he tested the air and smelt the familiar scent of his mother, however he relaxed back against the furs, his eyes darted over to the other bed to see his dam’s satchel.  Smiling in relief, he returned his dagger to its hiding spot before dressing and making a start on breakfast.

 

By the time Nál appeared ten minutes later, Loki was crouched at the hearth, frying goose eggs and a strip of cured bacon from the previous month’s boar hunt.  “Welcome home, Mother.  Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.”

 

Nál simply kissed the top of his head and took a seat at the table.  “I missed you, my darling.  How have you fared?”

 

Loki scoffed and craned his head around to watch Nál pour them each a glass of water from the pitcher on the table.  “I’m seventeen, not five!  I fared just fine.”  His voice edging on petulant, but he held no ire towards his dam; he loved and was loved in return by his mother.

 

Nál took a sip of his water and arched an eyebrow towards his son.  “That much is obvious.  Verily, I was worried I would return to a smouldering ruin.”

 

Loki snorted back a laugh and served up their breakfast.

 

They ate in silence, Loki chewing his food distractedly whilst glancing over at the pile of books beside his bed.  He just knew Nál would ask him about the Ásgarðian book and felt a flush of shame for he had not touched it since that first morning.

 

“What do you have planned for the day, my darling?”

 

Loki’s eyes returned to look up at is mother, his cheeks coloured.  “I thought I might catch up on some reading,” he muttered softly into his cup.

 

“Catch up or start, I wonder?” Nál observed before laughing and reaching out to cup his son’s cheek.  “Rest easy, child.  Reading should be a joy, not a chore.  Finish up here and we’ll take a walk for a few hours.”

 

Loki leaned into his mother’s touch with closed his eyes and a gentle smile on his face.  He felt blessed to have such a patient and nurturing person in his life.  Nál would never press against or force his education, but rather bring the knowledge to him and let Loki experience and absorb it at his own speed, always ready to impart his wisdom when Loki seemed to need it the most.  They finished their meal without hurry before gathering a few things and leaving their cave for the day.

 

They kept to the lowlands, south of the mountain and walked with no real purpose.  They weren’t hunting nor were they looking for anything in particular.  Loki happened upon a small patch of mushrooms at the base of a giant spruce and after deeming them safe, scooped them up into a square of linen.  Nál found a few sprigs of herbs growing wild not far from there and took some cuttings to add to his satchel.

 

They stopped beside a small stream that branched off from a nearby river and ate the bread and dried meat Nál had thought to bring along.

 

Loki longed to tell his dam about Thor and what had happened while he had been away, but he stayed his tongue and instead spoke of the improvements he had made to his seiðrcraft.

 

A few hours turned into the rest of the day and it was nearing sunset when they returned.  Nál walked past Loki over to his bed, removing his satchel and fur mantle from his shoulders before turning back.  Loki watched his mother with wary eyes as he quickly prepared the mushrooms.  He seems quiet, far quieter than he thought he should be after being away from him for a week.  Indeed, in the past when Nál had returned from journeys for stock and supplies, they had barely removed themselves from each other’s company for days afterwards, Nál usually finding some way or other to be touching him – whether it was braiding his hair or showing him a new trick with seiðr, he was always close.  As he observed his dam bringing out the leg of cured ham to portion out their meat, he only just now saw the tension in his shoulders.  Loki worried at his bottom lip and continued to chop.

 

After enjoying their meal, they settled in for the night.  Tiny balls of seiðr light bobbed around their beds while they occupied themselves.  Nál seemed to be writing in his journal, while Loki sat resolutely reading the book he had been given a week ago, however after an hour or so with nothing but the sound of pages turning and Nál’s scratchings to fill their small cave, Loki looked up.  “What did the Norns show you, Mother?”

 

Nál looked upon his son’s face with a hint of a smile and closed his journal.  “They showed me that our time is growing shorter, my darling.”

 

“Shorter?  Are we in danger?”

 

“Nay, but there will be a change soon.”

 

Loki absentmindedly chewed on his thumb nail whilst watching his dam pack away his ink pot and pens, he himself holding the Ásgarðian book against his chest somewhat possessively.  His heart began to beat erratically in his chest.  “What kind of change?”

 

“One that will take us away from here,” Nál replied with a soft, even voice.

 

 _Away_?

 

From his home?

 

Loki wasn’t sure if he liked the sound of that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

That night, Loki dreamt of wolves nipping at his heels as he scrambled through the forest.  His normally light feet twisted and tripped over the moss-covered roots of the trees - once tall and beautiful, now gnarly and foreboding.  His eyes caught movement to his right as he ran and saw great serpents writhing amongst the branches.  He became distracted by them and caught an exposed root, falling fast to land on his knees.  He felt his heart constrict in panic as he was pressed to the ground by large paws, his hands reaching out in an attempt to find purchase, something – anything.  The putrid smell of the wolves’ breath fanned against his neck even as he felt another presence appear in front of him.

 

Tall, pale, with grey hair and blood-red eyes...

 

 _Íviðjur_ _!_

 

Loki gasped and opened his eyes, squinting as he looked around.  He looked over to find his mother sound asleep amongst his furs across from him – their cave still dark.  He frowned and swallowed down the panic in his throat, huddling down further into his blankets, not sure if it had been a nightmare or a premonition.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Loki woke to the familiar sounds of Nál preparing breakfast.  He had been unable to go back to true sleep after the nightmare, in the end having only achieved a fretful doze.  He remained in his bed for a few extra minutes, unsure if he should speak up about his dream.  If he told Nál about seeing the Jötunn creature in his dream, would he take it as Loki experiencing no more than a nightmare to be forgotten about?  Or would he insist on more details – details that included Loki’s admission of having had met the giant before?  That would then invariably reveal his encounter with Thor, an encounter Loki was still hesitant to confess.

 

And yet, Loki had never experienced such a vivid dream before.  He had had prophetic dreams before; smudged visions in his peripheral, but they had always been about the coming season and precautions that needed to be taken to protect themselves from danger.  This was different.  He could still feel where the wolf had pressed him down into the soft leaves and loam.  He could still smell its awful breath as it huffed in misty clouds about his head.

 

He could still see the sharp red eyes of the Jötunn as it hissed at him – the word spat like it was poison upon its lips.  _Íviðjur_ _!_

 

Loki decided he would remain quiet about his dream as he slowly rose and dressed for the day.  His mother greeted him with his familiar smile as he made his way over to the table.  Nál left the room, returning with a pitcher of fresh water moments later and Loki took it from him, pouring them each a cup.

 

“You don’t seem yourself, my sweet.”

 

“I confess I slept poorly.”

 

Nál’s eyes narrowed in concern, clearly worried by Loki’s reply but he seemingly chose to ignore it in favour of serving up their breakfast, leaving Loki to stare down at the tabletop, the dread sticky against the hollow ribs that rattled in his chest.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After breakfast, without plans for the day they had found themselves sitting on a pile of furs and blankets they built and looking through some new spell books Nál had thought Loki would enjoy.  As Loki eagerly flicked through the pages, Nál sat braiding his hair and pointing out important passages in the text.  After a while, they began practicing small incantations together, their seiðr dancing joyfully around the cave, bouncing off the smooth walls and bursting into bouquets of many colours.  As the light faded, Loki turned and regarded his mother.

 

“Are all Jötunn seiðr wielders or is it a gift bestowed to only a few?”

 

Indeed, he had never thought to ask before – simply believing all to be gifted, but that name, Íviðjur; harsh and guttural in its deliverance, had shaken Loki.  He had remembered seeing it written somewhere in one of his dam’s many tomes – he knew it was related to seiðrcraft and it was then the existential question formed in his mind.  He had never pondered if seiðr was a common gift among the Jötunn.  He had possessed it from birth, a rich swirl of galaxies formed beneath his very skin.  Nál, of course, had gently repressed its true power whilst Loki was very young, lest he flatten the land during a temper tantrum, but as he had grown and Nál had shown his headstrong young son how to channel it safety through his soul all the way out to his fingertips, he had let it ebb and flow even as he ebbed and flowed through the years.  To _not_ feel the power of seiðr within his soul was never a question.

 

He continued to look at his mother, who seemed to be considering his question.

 

The tips of Nál’s fingers still glowed the beautiful periwinkle his seiðr always shone; Loki would never grow tired of seeing its lovely effect.  Nál rotated his wrist with a showy flourish of fingers and Loki grinned as the light disappeared with a flash and a sudden pressure drop.  “Tacky,” he teased, and laughed right alongside his mother.

 

Eventually their bubbling laughter died down and after rearranging themselves comfortably among the furs once more, Nál finally answered.  “Not all Jötunn are granted the gift of seiðr, its very existence tempestuous at best.  To safely wield the gift, one must first learn to control it.”

 

“Can seiðr be evil?”

 

“Seiðr is neither good nor bad, my son.  It is pure energy formed deep in the very roots of Yggdrasil itself – the wielder is the cause and effect – just as there is light, there is also dark.  And who are we to judge what is inherently good or bad outside of our own moral beliefs?

 

“But the battles I have been studying?”

 

“One king who believes he is fighting for the justice of his people is no less right or wrong than the king defending his people.  Tyrants rarely have so small an ego than to admit themselves wrong, my dear.”

 

Loki allowed a small smirk before becoming solemn once more.  “So it’s the wielder who shapes the seiðr, not the other way around?”

 

Nál smiled and combed his fingers through the black tresses of Loki’s hair, admiring the braid he had just tied off with a small stone bead.  “The seiðr is the sword – we are merely the fist that grasps the hilt.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Loki pondered his mother’s words while he sat on the low-hanging bough of a beech tree the next day, suspending a line just below the surface of the stream directly below.  The muddy, moss-lined edges of the river were beginning to frost, but the frigid water was still too fast for any real ice to settle – only a month or so more and this little stream would be frozen over.  Loki thought it best to catch as many fish now as he could before then.  He and Nál had never truly starved during the long winters – their hunting skills and seiðr skills far too superior to allow them to go without food, but one can never be too careful.

 

His seiðr was as much a part of him as the blood that flowed through his veins, or the heart that pumped it.  It was also a subjective force, malleable to the wielders whims and choices.  Loki remembered the giant’s seiðr – he felt the darkness that lay within.  The seiðr wasn’t evil – the creature was, and yet through the giant, their seiðr could become something terrible indeed.  Loki didn’t know what he feared more.

 

The breeze was brisk as it blew through the gully the stream cut its path along, a flurry of red leaves dropping to the glassy surface below.  Loki sighed and decided to stop thinking about the giant, instead lounging back against the trunk, the dangling of his leg setting his anklet ringing throughout the wood.  The line was slack and he let it bob happily with the current of the water as he shut his eyes.  The soft noises of the forest calmed his heart and he let his mind wander.

 

He thought about the long reach of the forest and the limitlessness of the sky.  He wondered what the other realms looked like – how vast their skies would seem.  He thought about Ásgarðr and all the lovely things he heard about it from Thor.  He had already travelled far more than Loki felt he ever would and for a moment, he felt sick with unfounded envy.  How can his be envious of something he’s not experienced?  Maybe it wasn’t the travelling, but rather the traveller.  He felt quite small in the scheme of things.

 

He was barely there, moving along with almost repetitious autonomy, merely one small pulse in the heartbeat of Yggdrasil’s great reach.  He wanted more than this, though.  He just wasn’t sure what it entailed, but maybe his mother’s vision wasn’t so daunting after all.

 

His only worry was his readiness, or rather, his lack of readiness.  He still yet had so much to learn; books and knowledge were admirable, to be sure, but he possessed neither the wisdom of age nor the gift of time in order to grant it.

 

He sighed despondently after a few minutes, reaching out with a subtle burst of seiðr to locate the fish below the surface, sensing the tiny sparks of their lives moving slowly upstream before winter set in.  They were tired and hungry – surely his bright, lovely lure could tempt them still.

 

A few more minutes of teasing and suddenly Loki felt the line pull and he was instantly alert.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Two weeks later, Loki was lounging on his bed, thumbing through the Ásgarðian tome and reading about Bör and Bestla fighting side-by-side on the battlefield.  Nál was sitting nearby, making notes in his journal while periodically takings sips from a steaming cup of myrtle tea he had placed beside him.  Outside, it was raining quite heavily; the sheets of water lashing the side of their cave with an almost ceaseless drone.  It was had been raining for nigh on two solid days now, the final deluge before the snows came.  They had a small fire burning in the hearth, warming the round room prettily and they were oddly content, even among the din.

 

Loki hunched forward and paid particular attention to the words beautifully scribed upon the parchment.  It wasn’t the battle that interested him, per se – but more so the Ásgarðian King and his Queen – his _Jötunn_ Queen.

 

_Bestla was as fierce warrior as he was the adored Queen of Bör.  Together in battle, their bonded souls aided soldiers with their apparent immortality.  Some called them careless, others called them glorious.  During one of many battles the Ásgarðians faced, Bestla was missing from the field and the void was keenly felt.  They fought harder than ever before, fearful their Queen had fallen.  Only after their battle was hard fought and won was it disclosed Bestla’s absence was due to him bearing the realm their prince and heir apparent, Óðinn._

_Bör welcomed his warriors home and presented Ásgarðr’s heir proudly among his brethren.  Óðinn was said to be a strangely quiet babe.  Fair in hair with the pale skin of an Ása prince, but with the stoic disposition of his Jötnar kin._

_He grew among the warriors; sage and without pretence.  When he came of age, he was presented with the mighty staff, Gungnir and was betrothed to the Vanir Goddess Frigga, daughter of Njörðr and sister to the twins Freyja and Freyr—_

“Norns, not again!” Nál exclaimed as he leapt to his feet, grabbed his cloak and ran to the door.

 

Loki closed the book and stood up, his face panicked.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“The northern elks are trying to cross the river at the shallows down by the rocky pass, but the banks are swollen with the rain and they’re drowning.”

 

Loki immediately sprang into action, grabbing his own cloak, his daggers (just in case) and his leather belt before taking off without further thought, using seiðr to track his dam.  He had no chance of catching Nál, for he was a full-grown Jötunn and Loki was but a Halfling in size, but he still made good time using his skills as a hunter and resident of the forest to speed his journey using paths known to him.  As he ran, he could see where the heavy rain had washed out huge sloughs of soil, exposing vast highways of root systems from the towering trees and washing away levees that had now become estuaries.  It was eerily quiet as he ran, the rain finally letting up to leave only the sound of sodden leaves falling away from their water-logged branches and the wet squelch of his feet hitting the springy, saturated moss to be heard.

 

It was after another ten minutes of running before Loki finally heard it; the deep rush of water that signalled his impending approach to the river.  He found Nál thigh deep in the water, hauling one fearful animal to the side.  It was panicked and flailing wildly in instinctive defence of a potential predator.  Loki could see the rest of the herd on the other side of the fast-flowing water, pacing back and forth, clearly distressed over the young yearling currently being held captive by the large Jötunn.  Once Nál reached a safe depth, he lowered the elk into the shallows and helped push it up and out of the water, heaving in lungfuls of air while bent over.  Loki watched as the herd began to move away, but something wasn’t right.  They should have been fleeing with speed, and indeed most of them were.  Except one. A cow.  She remained at the water’s edge, her braying high like a squeal.

 

“Loki, her calf.  I couldn’t save it,” Nál lamented as he began pulling himself back through the water towards his son.  “She’s calling to it, but it was washed downstream before I could catch it.”

 

Immediately, Loki used his seiðr to try and locate the calf, sadly not holding out for hope that it would be found alive.  Nál sat down in the slushy loam beside him and Loki closed his eyes, turning his face towards the sky.  The mighty trees hung their sodden braches overhead, but the clouds saw their way through and Loki let the breeze run past his face and through his hair.  He continued to search.  Until…

 

_There!_

 

It was faint; barely beating.  He took off running at full speed, weaving and ducking broken boughs and leaping over exposed roots.  He ran parallel to the river, the water white as it churned in what was actually a beautifully tumultuous display; the power and force of the water tore up the landscape, bent it to its will.  It was the mover, not the moved.

 

His legs were burning and his chest was tight, but he continued on without flagging until the roar of the rapids was screaming in Loki’s ear so loudly that he almost missed the pitiful braying of the calf.  He skidded to a halt and found the small thing caught on a fallen log.  Even as the water roiled around him, Loki could see the calf was fighting a losing battle against the current.

 

He didn’t have to think – he shucked off his cloak and dove right in.

 

Being a Jötunn, the cold didn’t affect Loki like it affected others; for example, Thor and his friends.  They had been huddled in as many furs as they could bring, crouched around the fire like it were their only lifeline.  Loki had sat beside Thor comfortable; a little cool, but comfortable all the same.  He had even mocked them at one stage about it – something Loki liked to remember that with a tiny smile.

 

Right now, however, plunging into the water to rescue the struggling calf was one of those sobering moments – the moments you hope your friends will never see, for surely it was of such humbling significance that it would remain fodder for counter-arguments for the rest of his days, because the water was beyond cold – it was brutal.

 

If Loki knew any curse words, he would have been uttering them right then – but he didn’t, so instead his mouth remained silent but for a few hissed breathes while he waded through the chest-deep water over to where the calf was squeaking and thrashing its spindly legs.  The rescue wasn’t pretty, nor was it particularly graceful.  Loki simply scooped it up into his arms, pinning its legs beneath it and holding its head against his chest.  He turned and carefully made his way back to the bank, where he somehow managed to haul the calf onto the bank before using the lichen-covered rocks to pull himself out of the water.

 

He immediately stripped the small waterlogged sable loincloth away from his hips and sat naked on the soft, wet dirt, cradling the calf close while he brought his seiðr to his limbs in an attempt to warm and calm the thrashing animal.  His bare ass felt awful against the gritty texture of the mud and knew he must look a mess of sodden limbs and lank hair, but the calf was finally beginning to calm and Loki could feel the tips of his fingers once more.

 

Once the calf’s hammering heart began to slow and he fell silent in his arms, Loki reached out and grabbed his discarded cloak, covering them both and rubbing his hand along the animal’s torso in rough passes, trying to warm it faster and to stimulate the blood flow.

 

They sat for a few minutes more until the calf began to struggle to stand.  Loki took this as their cue to return, letting the gangly creature stumble around on its shaky legs while he shook out the cloak and clipped it back around his shoulders – it was filthy and muddy in patches, but it was the only clothing he had.  He stood and after scooping the calf up into his arms, began walking back through the dense forest towards where he knew Nál would be waiting.

 

He entered the clearing to find Nál crouched at the water’s edge, the distressed mother still pacing back and forth along the opposite bank.  Upon seeing Loki, Nál was immediately on his feet and approaching to relieve him of the animal.  Quick, sure-footed strides across the river saw Nál setting the calf down next to its mother and returning to Loki’s side within seconds.

 

“You did well, my son.  I felt your seiðr calm that young calf’s heart and the transfer was almost completely flawless,” he said with a serene smile. “I am very proud of your hard work, Loki.”

 

Loki watched the calf and its mother leave to re-join their herd before he too turned away to head back to the cave.  “It was all of five minutes.  It doesn’t seem significant at all.”

 

Nál fell into step beside his son, albeit his steps were one to Loki’s four.  “Ahh, but it was.  You were even tempered and stoic throughout.  I felt your heart – there was no panic.”

 

Loki smiled up at his mother.  “Did you feel when I jumped into the water?”

 

Nál laughed quietly.  “The temperature was quite alarming, was it not?”

 

“Frightening.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After arriving home, they took turns bathing in the copper tub in the back room, Loki at last feeling the bone-deep chill melt away with the heat of the water.  Frost Giants they may be, but averse to hot baths they were not.  Loki often wiled away afternoons like that; soaking in the tub reading a book or indulging in… other things that his mother will never learn of.  Today was more utilitarian than luxury because they both had to bathe, disallowing any time for leisure.

 

After dressing in a new fresh loincloth; this one made of weasel fur, Loki began to organise their supper while Nál bathed.  Loki tried to not think about what would have happened if his mother hadn’t have felt the elk that afternoon.  He didn’t want to focus on what could have come to pass, instead choosing to think about the moment he reunited the calf with its mother and the surge of familial love and admiration he felt when he thought about Nál and the steadfast respect he gave the elk.  He hoped the calf was safe with its mother and he was glad to have helped.

 

Everything had a purpose, he supposed.  Everything had some semblance of fate, without the whimsical notion of destiny.  Loki began chopping up some dried kelp to add to the stew he was preparing as he thought about his place in the scheme of things.  His mother spoke of his vision and how they would be leaving soon.  When that would be, Loki had no idea, but he clearly had plans for Loki.  Plans he was not yet privy to.

 

He thought about Thor and their upcoming meeting.  Were the emotional whims of a teenage Jötunn reason enough to cast aside his mother’s vision?  Was it selfish to want things for himself?  He felt the seed of doubt bury itself deep inside his mind and it caused him to waver.  Maybe he shouldn’t go.  He thought about his mother and the absolute trust he gave Loki – his patience was irrefutable and extensive.  Loki was forever pushing him to see exactly how much he could get away with.  Funnily enough, he had yet to find the end of that particular piece of string.  Nál would masterfully redirect Loki’s mischievousness to other tasks; hindsight always bringing Nál’s smooth, patient ways to light much later.  The cruel irony being the very next time Loki tried to outsmart his mother would result in basically the same outcome, or variations of the same outcome.  He pretended to seethe, but was secretly proud of his strong, intelligent mother.

 

So maybe he shouldn’t listen to his heart and instead let himself be led solely by his mother’s plan; for Nál was sensible and wise and Loki was but a boy.  A boy must follow, a man must lead.  He should trust in Nál.

 

He should forget about Thor.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The forest floor was cool against Loki’s feet, but oddly enough, not as cold as he thought it would be.  When they had woken that morning and ventured outside, they had noticed a thin blanket of frost across the blades of grass and moss that carpeted the ground in front of their cave entrance.  The sky was dark, of course, and the heavy clouds to the north looked ominous.  They were moving sluggishly across the realm.

 

Nál predicted snow within the week.

 

As he moved along, ducking under low-hanging branches and stepping over gnarly roots, Loki felt the heavy weight of his indecision press upon his chest once more.  The days were bringing him closer to his planned meeting with Thor and the indecision plaguing his mind had not lessened in the slightest.  He now found himself lying awake most nights, long after his mother had fallen asleep.  He would lay there, staring at the ceiling running over every moment he had spent with Thor in his mind.  Maybe he imagined the connection they had felt.  Maybe his mind had conjured all these emotions out a loneliness he neither wanted nor understood.

 

It was a nice lie, he begrudgingly acknowledged.  The moment Thor entered his mind (though, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he was never really far from it), Loki felt that unmistakable warmth spread throughout his body.  Like the first rays of sun after the long winter, bright and warm.

 

No, he had definitely not imagined what he felt.

 

He wanted to be a good son, but Thor was everything he never realised wanted.  He was beautiful and smart and weirdly poetic, considering Loki’s first impression of him was less than favourable.  He originally thought him pretentious – getting lost in The Wyld with no more than a blanket, some rope and a peach!  Silly and arrogant.

 

Loki had never felt happier to be proven wrong.

 

True, Loki was not one normally to be swayed by fate or destiny, but he wanted a sign.  He wanted to know that if he were to choose to follow his heart and leave to meet Thor in mere days, he wasn’t going to destroy anything – the Norns wouldn’t tear down the skies or rip up the roots of Yggdrasil itself.

 

Loki reached the stream and found the edges starting to freeze, thin sheets of ice clinging to the reeds that fringed it – the water would be barely a degree above freezing at the most.  The memory of plunging into the river still fresh in his mind – so he retreated back a nearby beech, her braches almost completely denuded save a handful of brown and red leaves.  She was indeed beautiful, even in her bare state. 

 

The temperature had dropped significantly enough that Nál had pulled their winter furs out earlier that morning.  They had been packed away after the end of the previous winter in a heavy wooden chest that had then been pushed into the far corner of their cave.  As the months had passed, the chest had become a convenient table to hold books for any number of specific reasons (Loki being the worse culprit – always making notes in the margins and placing them to the side for later perusal).  Eventually, the chest had become so hidden beneath the many stacks of books that Nál had stood there for a full five minutes waiting as Loki moved the books.

 

He had shaken the garments out and after checking for any broken stitching (a few loosened stitches, but none broken), Nál handed Loki his vest and kjalta.  The vest was soft and lined with plush, pale grey rabbit fur at the front and velvety dun of buckskin at the back.  It was held together with cords of leather and knotted with beads of bone.  The kjalta was fashioned out of bearskin and after wrapping it around his hips, ended just above his knees.  The hide was black and the fur was only a shade or two lighter.  It was stiffer than the vest, but it was also far more durable and Nál had made it with the cross over at the front, allowing Loki to climb unimpeded.

 

Loki stretched his arms above his head and pulled himself into the lower branches, easily swinging himself higher until he was about halfway up.  Then he carefully traversed his way to the outer edges until he reached where the branches of the neighbouring tree merged with the beech.  This one was an elm and her branches were mighty and her range vast.  Loki wrapped his fingers around the smooth, pale stems and eased himself into the cradle of the elm.

 

He looked down as he shuffled across, smiling as he watched the river continue to rush along unperturbed by his ingenious avoidance.  A few minutes later, he jumped down, landing almost silently on the springy earth before he continued on his way.

 

Unconsciously, he raised his hand to his horn and touched the twin-stone where is hung from the delicate thread of his golden chains.  Despite in the frigid wind, the stone remained only slightly cool to touch; each stone maintaining an even temperature between their brothers.  Loki smiled – Thor’s stone must be very warm indeed, nestled within his hair where it lay against his neck.

 

Maybe he should postpone their rendezvous, make plans to meet after the winter.  If Loki was still here, that was.

 

Loki walked for another hour or so until he came across a small clearing.  Without the protection of the overhead branches, the clearing was bare of undergrowth and instead littered with patchy layers of soggy brown leaves and brittle twigs.  The ground was torn up in places, signs of recent animal activity plain to see, a day or two at the most.  Loki crouched down and laid his hand out over the rich earth, studying the divots.  Elk, he surmised before digging his fingers further in.  With a small pulse of seiðr, he brought the forest’s memory to his mind, seeing the animals make their way through, pawing at the ground to loosen the roots of the sparse tufts of meadow grass they then pulled up with desperate mouths.  It wasn’t until after the memory projection showed Loki the herd disappearing into the tree line opposite and he was about to sever his connection to the seiðr did Loki suddenly sense its presence.

 

It was the calf he saved.  He was curled up in the sod next to one of the last trees before the clearing.  His mother was pacing back and forth, her head darting between her sickly offspring and the rapidly retreating herd.  After a full minute of skittishly skipping about and nudging the calf with her nose, she squeaked one final time before turning and bolting after the herd, leaving the calf exposed and alone.

 

Loki’s heart constricted as he pulled his fingers from the earth to break the connection, scrambling to his feet and running over to the far side of the clearing.  The calf was actually camouflaged well among the meadow grass and fallen leaves, but Loki found him immediately nonetheless.  He looked so perfect, laying there still and frozen in time.  Loki would never know if his death was a result of falling into the frigid water almost a week ago, or if the animal had always been sickly.  He would never know, but he would mourn this little creature, barely alive and already gone.  No chance to live, no chance to grow.

 

It made Loki think of chances and their innate fragility; fleeting and sporadic.  They weren’t something to be scoffed at, or pushed to the side without thought.

 

He knelt there in the cold, soggy earth for longer than he realised, his limb sore from remaining in one position for such an extended period of time.  Eventually, he stood and raised his face to the sky, scowling at the dark clouds that prevented the light from breaching.  Oh, how he wished for even the tiniest of rays to shine down, instead he was given the muted, dull grey light of snow’s prelude.

 

With a gentle wave of his hand, the calf was slowly buried beneath the loam before Loki covered the small mound with leaf litter and a ring of stones.  He didn’t want the calf to fall prey to some scavenging predator – he represented so much more in Loki’s mind and deserved much better – he had to remain small and perfect and untouched by the harsh realities of life.

 

Loki had chosen to obey, even though it would have pained him to do so.  He had chosen to push his heart aside and follow his mother without question.  It had never been an issue in the past; but then, he had never met anyone like Thor before now.  Had he met the Ásgarðian previous to now, he was certain he would have reacted the same.

 

Yet now, upon finding the calf and seeing how precious life was, his head was swayed yet.  He _would_ make his way to the Rowan grove to meet with Thor.  He would let his heart lead him and he _would_ hold Thor in his arms again.

 

Loki’s heart rejoiced and it was like glass shattering against the surest of façades.

 

 

 


	6. Rendezvous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful [Mona](http://%20http:/www./archiveofourown.org/users/sexyscholar/pseuds/sexualthorientation) for her unwavering support and love ❤︎❤︎❤︎

The morning of the new moon dawned unusually bright.  Loki rolled over and pushed his face free of the plush furs encasing his body and squinted at the entrance.  Even with the cured skins covering the doorway, Loki could see the brightness seeping in where the seams didn’t quite meet.  Glancing over, he noticed Nál still curled up beneath his own furs, the gentle rise and fall alerting Loki to his mother’s presence.

 

He slowly crawled out of his warm cocoon and crept to the entrance, the frigid air immediately enveloping his near naked form as he peeked out past the skins.  The temperature had plummeted and now Loki could see why: it had snowed overnight and the entire world outside of their snug little cave was a blanket of white.  The weak rays of sun that shone down were reflected directly off the surface, amplifying the light and making it seem brighter than it was.  He scoffed before crawling back to his mound of furs; it was early still and he was chilly.  There was no way he was getting up yet – even though there was no way he was going to fall back asleep.  His heart was hammering in his chest and he couldn’t have stopped the giddy smile from spreading across his face if he had tried.  It was finally the day he would secret himself away to see Thor.

 

After finding the lifeless calf, he was more steadfast in his decision to meet with Thor.  Each morning after that day, he had set off for the day while his dam tended to his own tasks, and Loki would sit in a small secluded thicket of trees as he practiced his spells.  He was proficient in most, but it was his concealment charms he was most determined to master.

 

The intentional sleight of hand he was planning bore a heavy weigh in his heart, but he remained resolute in his decision.  His mother, whilst smart and skilled and patient was also a constant presence, leaving Loki with almost no time to himself, even if he himself was physically away from their den.  In the past, he found his daily meanderings through the Wyld were enough to combat his feelings of restriction, but it never seemed enough anymore.  He wanted to be invisible, even if it was for just a night.

 

He absent-mindedly lay there, wrapping tendrils of his long hair around hooked fingers before unravelling it only to begin again.  His thoughts were no more controlled or structured than his erratic pulse.  He would need to calm himself before his dam woke – he would see through Loki’s ruse immediately.  So, instead of indulging his whimsy, Loki sat up and finished packing his satchel.  He used a simple shrinking spell to reduce the items down to nothing more than trinkets that sat in his palm before stowing them safely away in his bag.

 

By the time he was finished, the sun had truly risen and as he stood to stretch his long limbs.  His cold joints cracked and he sighed happily at the warm rush of relief as they popped.  The air was still frigid – the sun being too weak to bring any true warmth – but he knew once he got a fire going their little home would be warm in no time.

 

He dressed in his vest and kjalta before preparing a simple breakfast of kelp and fried seal meat.  He took his time and revelled in the mechanical monotony of his chopping, successfully distracting his excited heart.

 

Nál woke a few minutes after Loki set the pan over the fire, the sizzling and rich aroma seeming to have pulled him from his dreams.  Loki could hear the tinkling bells of Nál’s golden chain as he wrapped his horns, making Loki think about the chains currently curled around his own.  He quite liked his horns; thought them handsome.  The twin-stone gave his chain an intimacy he thought beautiful, the secret holding with it a kind of smug joy Loki found himself savouring.

 

“Mmmm, it smells lovely, my darling.”

 

“It’s not much.”

 

Nál stooped to press a kiss to the top of his head.  “Muchness is objective.  You say not much, I say just enough,” he paused and leaned closer to inhale the gentle cloud of steam.  “You added sage.  I love when you add sage to your cooking.”

 

Loki blushed at the compliment, but then scoffed with a grin to cover his reaction.  “Of course you love it – you were the one who taught me to add it.”

 

“Yes.  Because I love it.”

 

Loki shook his head and returned to cooking.  “And you call _me_ incorrigible!”

 

They ate in companionable silence, Loki not meeting his dam’s casual glances, instead focusing on the clay pitcher in the centre of the table.  Nál wasn’t just a skilled seiðr-welder, he was also Loki’s mother and he would know something was amiss in Loki’s expression immediately.

 

“The snow finally broke through overnight.”  Loki instantly cringed at his terrible attempt at small talk and bit at his bottom lip, braving a glance up.  Nál was looking out towards the entrance before turning back to regard him.

 

“Where are you up to in the Ásgarðian tome I gave you?” he asked instead, surprising Loki.  He looked over at the book, realising he hadn’t picked it back up since the day he had helped Nál save the elk calf from the river.  In the days and weeks that followed, he had been so caught up in his indecisiveness, he had completely forgotten about it.

 

“Ummm… Bestla had given birth to Óðinn, who had come of age and had been betrothed to a goddess from Vanaheimr.  I can’t remember her name.”

 

“Frigga.”

 

“Frigga?”

 

“She is the Æsir goddess of Foreknowledge, Marriage and Childbirth.”

 

“Oh.  Well, in any case, that was where I was up to when we rushed off to rescue the elk.”

 

Nál hummed with a nod, but didn’t comment further.  They finished eating and Loki helped his mother clear away the dishes.  By then, the morning’s mist had burned away and the winds had picked up, bringing with it the sharp, crisp tang of freshly fallen snow to their noses.  After drying off his hands, Nál walked over and began dressing in his furs.  “I think I might take a walk north through the new snow at the base of the mountain.  Care to join me?”

 

Loki balked, but held his face blank.  He shook his head and wondered offhandedly if this was a test.  Did his mother suspect something?  Surely not.  He’d betrayed no expression, no slip of the tongue.  He decided to play Nál’s bluff.  “No thank you, Mother.  I think I might head west to the river’s edge.”

 

Nál nodded as he finished tying knots in the leather binding of his vest before picking up his cloak and satchel.  He crouched down in front of his son and brought a gentle finger down the side of his face.  “The son of Bör and Bestla plays an important part in our future history.  As does his Vanir queen.  Things will come to pass soon enough.  I suggest reading more of that tome.”  He kissed the top of Loki’s head and stood once more, leaving the cave with a small smile.

 

Loki stood where Nál had left him for a minute, not sure how to interpret those parting words.  As he picked up his satchel and cloak, he spied the book and almost considered turning to the section on Óðinn – but the pull of wanting to make his way down to the rowan grove was too great.  He decided that when he returned tomorrow, it would be one of the first things he would do.

 

Well, one of the first things _after_ receiving a lecture from his mother for staying out overnight – he had absolutely no doubt he would be getting one.  It would be deserved, he conceded, but his heart remained steadfast in its decision.

 

Better to ask forgiveness than permission, he rationalised with a snort.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He had told his mother he was heading west that day, but instead Loki made his way down towards the southernmost tip of the great forest, cresting the small rise just as the pale midday sun broke through the thick clouds.  Normally this trek would take Loki only an hour or so, but he had taken his time, mindful to shield his tracks in the thick blanket of snow that had fallen overnight, instead choosing a more winding, meandering path.  He also took a measured pace in an attempt to conserve energy.  His extra hour of rest after waking that morning, and his slower journey meant he would hopefully not tire as quickly as the day made its way through the afternoon into evening.  Loki had no intention of falling asleep too early while in Thor’s company tonight – he planned on staying awake as long as he could.

 

From his vantage point at the peak of the small hill, Loki was able to look down into the valley below and admire the beautiful thicket of trees, their silvery branches almost completely stripped of leaves.  The grove was circular in form with a small, but lush inner sanctum.  Loki hadn’t visited the site for almost two years, the last time being during a waning summer with his dam.  He had brought Loki here to show him the constellations, admiring the clear sky better from within the dark little cove where no outside light could affect their sight.  He made Loki study and learn the stars before relaxing back against their furs and speaking of philosophies long ago written.

 

When he reached the tree line of the grove, Loki slowed and looked around.  It was just as he remembered it.  In the very centre of the clearing, there was a circular recess that was lined with moss-covered bluestone boulders.  Nál had used it as a fire-pit in the past, but now it was no more than a blackened crater, ready for the next person to come along and use it.  With a fond smile, he walked over to the largest of the trees at the edge and sat down on the loamy moss beneath the boughs.  The ground was cool, but not frozen where the branches shielded it from the snowfall, which was perfect – he didn’t want to use seiðr to break the surface.  He pulled a small trowel from his satchel and dug a hole.  The earth was pungent and damp and the smell calmed him as he removed a small container of ochre powder from his satchel and a dagger from his belt.

 

As with most seiðr spells, it required something in return – the Norns did not give so freely and always took their promised lot.  Though the spell Loki was about to cast was merely one of protection and concealment, Loki had to give part of himself as payment.  The slice was not deep and his hand was steady as he held it above the container of powder.  Only a few drops, enough to make a paste, and it was over.  He wrapped his palm in a length of gauze he had thought to bring along before pouring the now gloopy mixture into the small hole he had dug.  Then he reached into his satchel once more and pulled out the braid of golden hair Thor had gifted him.  He held it like it were made of glass - something truly precious to him.  He was loathe to disturb the neatly plaited lock, but it was needed.  He removed a few hairs from the braid, sliding them out slowly before adding them to the pit and using his finger to mix it in.  Then using it like an ink well, he dipped his finger back into the cool paste and began to draw runes on the ground around him, uttering a small incantation as he went.  The runes began to soak into the dirt, a ruddy brown before glowing bright gold and fading away.

 

When he looked up, Loki could see a pale gold field that hung around the edge of the wood like a gossamer net of protection.  Loki knew he was effectively blind to the world right then – no scrying would locate him and any who passed this wood would see nothing more than reeds swaying with the breeze.

 

All except Thor, of course.  By adding his hairs to the spell, he was included in the trick; only he and Thor would be able to see the true grove.  Using his trowel, Loki filled in the small hole, the earth burying his spell and committing it to the soil.

 

It was all coming together - all falling into place.

 

With a short huff of pent up excitement, he stood and dusted himself off even as he was reaching into his satchel.  He pulled out a small piece of wood, no bigger than the palm of his pale blue hand.  After placing it on the ground, he whispered a small incantation and smiled as he watched it grow into a full-sized wooden chest.  He lifted the lid and pulled out some rolled up furs and a simple tent with a pitched roof made of animal hide.  He didn’t know what they would do when Thor got there, but he knew he wanted to be comfortable.

 

He laid out the furs and pitched the tent near-by, setting the chest just inside the flap.  He cleared away the old charred logs from the fire-pit and went for a walk, returning not long after with an armful of felled logs.

 

They had only agreed on the day, not the time, so Loki was left to potter around the small clearing for a few hours.

 

He brushed and braided his hair, always finding some minute flaw and unravelling his work to begin again.  He made sure his horns were artfully wrapped in his best chains.  Adorned himself in his favourite trinkets and decoration.

 

A few hours into the afternoon, he pulled out the small parcels of food he had stowed in his satchel, chewing on the snacks, more so out of the need to stave his hunger with the mechanical process of chewing rather than with enjoyment in mind.  His eyes forever scanned the grove’s edge - watching, waiting for Thor to arrive.

 

The light began to fade as the sun dropped lower in the sky, along with his heart.  He turned his face upwards and closed his eyes.  He had been careful to mark off his days – today was definitely the new moon and four weeks since their last meeting.  Surely he hadn’t miscalculated.

 

And then it hit him.  Maybe Thor wasn’t coming.

 

Maybe Thor had been having the same crisis he had experienced.  Maybe he had thought about it and decided not to slip away to meet the strange Jötunn boy from the forest.

 

Loki had been so caught up in his own thoughts and his own troubles that he had completely neglected to consider Thor’s heart and mind.  He brought a hand up to press against his chest, feeling a bloom of pain and hoping the pressure from his fingers would lessen it.  He kept his eyes closed, though because maybe if he kept them shut, he couldn’t see that Thor wasn’t there and he could avoid the realisation that maybe, _maybe_ Thor wasn’t coming and it wouldn’t hurt so mu—

 

“Loki?” Thor’s voice was soft, with a lilt of worry in his tone.  Loki’s eyes shot open and he looked over at the man where he stood, just inside the tree line.  He was dressed thickly in furs and carried a large bag over one shoulder.

 

All of Loki’s worries and doubts evaporated in an instant and he was on his feet, rushing over to leap into the arms of the golden man with a yelp.  “You came!”

 

Thor chuckled and embraced the excited Jötunn just as tightly, standing there while Loki pressed his face into Thor’s throat, silently cursing his fractured faith as he inhaled the warm, earthy scent of Thor’s skin.  He was really there and he was smiling and happy and Loki couldn’t have held back his beaming smile if he’d have tried.  He raised his face to look up at Thor, the blue of his eyes was just how Loki remembered them.  They held each other’s gaze, not caring about anything else but each other.  Then Thor lowered his head and pressed his lips to Loki’s in a short kiss.  “Of course I came.  I’ve been waiting for this moment since the day I returned to Ásgarðr.  You’re all I’ve been able to think about.”

 

He pressed his lips against Loki’s again, moving a warm hand to cup the back of Loki’s head, letting the Jötunn melt into his kiss.  He opened his mouth, letting Thor’s tongue slide in and coax the tiniest of moans from his throat before pulling back to break the kiss.  “You were worried I wouldn’t come?”

 

Loki blushed, but hoped the low light hid it.  “Of course not,” he scoffed lightly before hiding his reaction within another kiss.  He couldn’t let Thor see how worried he had been.  He didn’t want to be seen as a petulant child.  Thor was used to friends who were capable and strong.  He didn’t want to be seen as less than them.

 

To be seen as _younger_.

 

Eventually, Thor placed the little Jötunn back on his feet and pulled away, stroking his face with a soft gaze.  “Sorry I wasn’t here sooner, my sweet.”

 

Loki’s blush grew brighter and he grabbed Thor’s hand, dragging him over to where he had been sitting beside the fire, not letting go even as they got comfortable beside one another on the log Loki had thought to drag over.  If Thor minded, he didn’t show it, letting Loki curl in towards him.  That was when Loki noticed the large bag Thor had placed on the ground next to his feet.  “Did you want to stow your bag away in our tent?”

 

Thor craned his neck to look at the small dwelling.  “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”  However, he turned back and shook his head.  “But not yet, these are for you.”

 

“Ooh, presents?”

 

Loki relinquished Thor’s hand as he chuckled and sat the bag between his legs, his fingers working the knots in the leather straps.  “I may have brought a couple of things along for you, yes.”

 

Loki felt the fluttering in his chest intensify as he watched Thor open the bag and begin to pull things from it.  Just looking at his lovely face and his smile, and his hair…

 

“I remembered how much you enjoyed the peach last time I was here, so I brought a selection of fruit I thought you might enjoy,” Thor began, holding up a handful of small red balls.  Loki grinned and leaned closer, picking one up and frowning when his fingers burst the fruit and it fell away, leaving its juice to drip down his arm.  “Gently, dear one.  They’re fragile.”

 

“What are they?”

 

“Raspberries.  They’re grown on a prickly shrub and are quite delicious with cream.”

 

“Oh, I know about cream,” Loki sighed whimsically as he ventured to pick another berry up from Thor’s palm.  “When I was younger, my mother would sometimes return from supply runs with stone jars of cream.  He would flavour it with the seed pod of a strange flower – I don’t remember what it was, I only remember I loved it.”  He paused to pop the fruit into his mouth, his eyes opening wide in delight as the tartness burst upon his tongue.  “I like sweet things.”

 

Thor smiled warmly and fed Loki the last berry from his hand.  “I can tell.”

 

Thor then pulled out a few other fruits, naming them as he went.  They included a pear, a persimmon and an orange.  Loki took each of them eagerly, placing them carefully into his lap, the soft pads of his fingers gently running over the smooth surfaces.  He stared down at them with jubilant excitement, wanting to try them all at once.  In the end, he chose the large, orange ball that smelt bright and fresh, storing the other fruit away in his bag for later.  Without delay, he went to bite into it, only to have Thor stop him before his teeth could pierce the skin and instead watched as Thor took a knife to it, peeling and cutting it into segments.  He then held out a piece, waiting for Loki to oblige.

 

Not one to turn down any form of pampering, Loki smiled and opened his mouth, watching in fascination as Thor’s face betrayed his surprise for a moment before his eyes darkened and Loki felt the first slippery wedge slide into his mouth, followed by the very tips of his fingers before they were swiftly removed.

 

He bit down into the flesh of the segment, juice bursting out and over his tongue, some escaping the corner of his lips.  It was tart and abrupt as his eyes watered at the tangy taste.  Thor chuckled, but still reached out and dragged his finger up the side of Loki’s jaw to catch the errant rivulet, causing Loki’s heart to flutter at the touch.

 

Thor cut another wedge, feeding it to Loki gently as he began to speak about his journey there.  “I was successful in alluding my friends for the day, but alas Heimdallr was not fooled.”

 

“Who is Heimdallr?”

 

“The gatekeeper of the Bifröst.  The guardian god of the nine realms,” Thor replied, continuing to cut segments of orange as he inched closer to Loki’s side.  Loki felt the warmth of Thor’s deer hide-clad thigh press against his skin and he pretended not to notice, even though his heart was hammering.  “He sees all.  Could probably see us right now, if he were of a mind to spy.”

 

Loki accepted the last segment of orange before he shook his head.  “He would see nothing but a grove of trees touched by the first snow of the season.”  His voice was garbled by the fruit.  He quickly chewed and swallowed the tart morsel.  “I have cloaked us here.  We are secluded,” he whispered, “no one will find us here.”

 

“A spell?”

 

He nodded.  “One of the oldest.  Protection and concealment.”  Loki leaned closer, tilting his chin to look up at Thor’s face with unabashedly awe.  “We are truly alone.”

 

Thor ran a finger down the side of Loki’s neck and he felt that now familiar flush stain the gossamer blue of his cheeks.  Thor was finally here and they were hidden from the world.  Had he not been dreaming of this for weeks?  Had he not dreamed of finally being alone with Thor?  He hardly thought himself worthy, let alone worldly enough for the likes of Thor, but his heart burst into joyful song, least of all a little smugly that for all his naivety, Thor pursued him still.

 

After licking his fingers clean, Loki glanced over at Thor, who sat gazing back with an amused expression.  “What?”

 

“I like seeing you like this - happy and excited.  I’ve missed you.”

 

Loki preened and let Thor pull him closer and wrap his large arms around him.  He hummed and lay his head against Thor’s chest, smiling contently as he listened to the steady cadence of his heartbeat.

 

They sat together, not speaking for a while.  Watching the distant sun finally drop behind the mountains and the flames of their small fire glow brighter in the dimming light.  Thor’s hands idly drew patterns up and down the long pale blue of Loki’s arms and if it weren’t for the occasional hum from Loki’s throat, Thor would have thought him asleep.

 

“I worried our first meeting was less than what I had built in my mind.  Like a dream, or a fantasy.  I began thinking what I felt was the foolish longing of youth,” Thor whispered as his fingers continued to stroke gently across Loki’s skin, “but I now know this is more.  This is real.”

 

Loki turned in Thor’s arms and stared up at him.  “I fear I felt the same, but unlike you, I had nothing to gauge my actions against.  I felt myself quite taken, but the more time passed, the more I began to doubt myself.  Then my mother spoke of lea—“ Loki cut himself off and sat up, staring off beyond the fire.  Thor’s arms dropped away and sat up alongside him.  Loki could feel him searching his face for some cue, some tell, so he turned to the beautiful man beside him and smiled brightly, letting the sour bruise deep in his chest be pushed aside.  He would not think of his mother’s words now, not when his heart was so happy.  He placed a hand across Thor’s jaw, smiling even brighter at the colour contrast and how much he loved seeing his skin against the loveliness of the Ása warrior.  “But yes,” he whispered as he let his hand drop away, “I feel just as you do.”

 

By now, their small camp was truly dark outside of the beacon of their fire.  Loki ran his eyes along the tree-line, searching for any potential threats in the area, but found none.  The light barely touched the branches of the tree near them, let alone reaching the edge of the grove.  He huffed a content little sigh and settled himself back with the warmth of Thor’s arms.  He didn’t want Thor to know of his mother’s plans.  He himself avoided thinking about them any deeper.  So he chose to ask Thor of his travels and was lulled by the deep, calming resonance of Thor’s voice.  It rumbled from deep within his chest, where Loki had his cheek pressed against.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Loki woke to the warm huff of Thor’s breath against the back of his neck in steady, even intervals as he opened his eyes.  The initial blur of the low flame was sharp behind his eyes, but he blinked it away to focus on where he was.  The sky was blacker than the darkest charcoal, so clear Loki felt he could reach out and touch the pin-prick stars that danced across the horizon.  He tried to turn his head to look at Thor, but he only succeeded in having himself pulled tighter into the Ása’s embrace.  He grinned before clasping his own hand over Thor’s and loosened his hold just enough to free himself.  “Thor,” he prompted, “we fell asleep.”

 

Thor startled awake and sat up slowly with a lazy yawn.  Loki didn’t miss that Thor’s arm was still wrapped around his middle, albeit a little looser since he had sat up himself.  He knew he was smiling, but couldn’t find an instance to care.

 

“How long do you think we slept?” Thor asked softly.

 

“An hour, maybe two at the most.  The fire has not long dropped.”  He sighed and slowly got to his feet, finally leaving Thor’s warmth.  Thor seemed to understand what Loki meant to do, following his lead and packing their little area up.  After seeing to the fire, Loki made his way into the small tent, crawling in and sitting himself on the edge of his nest of furs, waiting.  He felt oddly calm in his action, watching almost mechanically as his arm reached across and his fingers began to unbuckle the binding that held the leather bands encircling his upper arms, even though his heart was hammering hard against his ribs.  He was certain it was audible; the rush of blood a pulse, like holding a conch shell to your ear.  He was blushing, of that much he was certain.

 

After a few minutes, Thor appeared at the opening of the tent and Loki watched with saucer eyes as he crawled in towards him, letting the deer skin door fall closed behind him.  Loki blinked and quickly returned to removing his jewellery and coverings until he was left wearing only his loincloth and the chains adorning his horns.  Thor sat beside him, also on the edge of the nest of furs, but had made no attempt to undress.  Instead he dragged his bag cross the blanket of grassed ground until it sat between his legs and opened it once more.

 

He pulled out something small, round and green and held it out to Loki.  “Ooh, is this another peach?” He asked with wide eyes, taking the fruit.

 

“No, this is an apple,” he began quietly.  “From Iðunn’s orchard.”

 

They moved into the centre of the furs, Loki snuggling closer into the dip of Thor’s side, their little nest enveloping them on all sides.  Loki brought his legs up, crossed them, rolling the apple between his hands as he moved.  “Who is Iðunn?”

 

“She is the goddess of Youth and her apples hold special properties.”

 

“Special properties?”

 

“They promote longevity and hasten healing.”

 

Loki stopped rolling the apple around and stared at it.  It didn’t look magical, but then again he had never seen an apple before now.  “What about me?”

 

Thor looked at him with a puzzled expression.  “I don’t understand.”

 

The corners of Loki’s mouth downturned before he could hide the onslaught of negative feelings as they erupted from his mind.  He shook them off as he held up the fruit.  “I mean, these apples are special you say, and for an Ásgarðian I’m sure they are, but I’m Jötunn.”

 

 “Iðunn’s apples are divine to all who consume them, be they Ása, like me or Jötunn, like you.”

 

“Hmmm.”

 

Loki kept Thor’s gaze for only a moment more, returning to hold the green sphere up, turning it this way and that in the firelight before bringing it to his lips and gingerly taking a bite.  Like the peach, the apple was soft and felt odd on Loki’s tongue, almost as if the creamy flesh was melting.  The effect was instantaneous, albeit building gradually from a whisper.  He felt its subtle magic flow through the very fabric of his body.  It felt like pure seiðr, on a cellular level.  Benevolent, peaceful and calm.  He exhaled a silent breath and lowered his arm to stare down at the apple, his teeth having left a perfect imprint in the flesh.

 

Thor had brought him this divine offering; had thought him worthy enough of such a gift.  Could he truly be more than what he believed?

 

Thor seemed to think so.

 

With a content smile, Loki continued eating the apple, shivering with unguarded joy after each bite.  Thor sat close as he watched him, his fingers still stroking Loki’s arm.

 

After the apple was finished, Thor took the core from Loki’s sticky fingers, wiping his own on the hem of his shirt before returning to Loki’s side on the furs.  They were laying on their sides now, facing one another, their faces mere inches apart.  Loki felt the thrum of his heart once more and worried at his bottom lip to distract himself from staring at the flushed pink of Thor’s lips, or the bright blue of his eyes as they stared back.

 

Then Thor began to speak again, about nothing in particular, and the deep timbre of his voice was soothing to Loki’s racing heart as he settled into Thor’s arms with a smile, asking him question when the stories took them to other realms.  Before now, Thor’s favourite realm had been Álfheimr, with its pale forests and Ljósálfar, but with his lips brushing against the warmth of Loki’s throat, Thor whispered that Jötunheimr was now by far his favourite.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The basalt pillars cut an impressive façade to Jötunheimr’s royal castle, although _fortress_ seemed a more accurate interpretation.  The permafrost balustrades and carved walls gave light to the corridors and stairs where the dark stone couldn’t, and allowed a pale glow to guide the way as the hooded Jötunn was lead towards the centre of the palace.

 

The guards stopped in front of a pair of heavy doors.  Rust stains dripped in tear-like trails from the rivets that dotted the hammered plates of tarred metal and the sharp, musty odour gave the entrance an almost decaying air.  Clearly housekeeping wasn’t high on the king’s list of priorities.  The figure waited with their head bowed as the guards pushed at the doors.  After groaning in protest, the metal finally gave a lurch and began to swing inwards, revealing to them what was clearly the throne room.

 

The walls were long for repair and the high ceiling, while still impressive, was cracked and crumbling in several areas.  The only thing that appeared well-maintained and shining with regular cleaning was the throne, which sat upon its triple-tiered dais in the very centre of the chamber.  The high back and sides gleamed, giving the Jötunn who sat upon it the regal air he was clearly striving for.

 

“What do you want?” Fárbauti snarled as he looked up.  He had been trying to stave off falling asleep while listening to a trade report currently being read aloud by one of his advisors, so the interruption was something of a happy exception – not that he’d ever let on.  He held up a hand, silencing the droning voice of his aide and waited for an answer.

 

When a response was not forthcoming, he looked between the two guards and, with an icy realisation, recognised their blank expressions and vacant eyes a moment too late.  Before he could draw breath to call for more guards, Fárbauti felt something squeezing at his throat.  He looked to the hooded giant and scowled as he drew in his own seiðr.  The attacker was strong, but strangely pulled back when challenged by Fárbauti.  Not much, but enough to allow the king to draw breath.

 

The advisor stood trembling at the bottom of the dais with his hands twisting the scroll he held, more bureaucrat than warrior.  The attacker turned and regarded him with a faceless shadow and burning dead eyes.  The whimpering Jötunn turned and scrambling out of the room, leaving the king and the stranger alone.

 

“ _Striker-King,_ ” the giant hissed, reaching up and removing their hooded cloak.  “We have some business to discuss.”

 

It took a moment, but recognition eventually seeped into Fárbauti’s memory.  He had heard the stories as a child, but he had never thought them true.

 

“ _Sorrow-bringer_.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come and visit my [tumblr](http://www.fourletterwordsstartingwithl.tumblr.com)


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